#day is sufficiently ruined

[tomatoluvr69]

I do think the general rule of you can never add too much garlic is a good one, and important training wheels for normie midwesterners, brits, etc (sry 4 the cheap shot lol)…however I just spent literally over 30 minutes slowly browning onions and cumin perfectly for my mujadara and mixed it all up with the lentils and rice. And then I fucked it up supremely by adding garlic powder. Just stomped all over my painstakingly cultivated browned onion flavor :-( :-( :-( :-( what I have now is horrible quotidian lentil rice. My beautiful fleeting mujadara…she is gone…dead with all the things that made her special……….learn from my mistakes. Ouuuuuughhhhh :-(

[guinevereslancelot]

it's june 😳

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Lemon is the kind of girlie who would get permabanned from social media by posting a cutesy how-to video where she's just playing around and being silly but is very clearly giving instructions on how to build a pipe bomb

[elainemorisi]

I love how genetic Obeying The Rules can be

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the end - Post-apocalyptic Omegaverse AU

Summary - You missed the end of the world. Fine by you. You thrived in your new surroundings, content to be on your own. Until something happens during your third winter.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. Uh... This came to me in a fever dream. Consider this a prologue. 141 x reader

You think you're pretty lucky all things considered. You had always been self sufficient and your childhood gave you skills you were able to call on after the entire world shat itself. To be honest, you hadn't even noticed the world had completely gone to ruin until you tried to call your pharmacy to refill your heat and scent suppressants.

The line was dead. So you called the grocery store. Dead. The movie theater, the diner, the post office. Dead dead dead. Panic seized you by the throat and you dropped your home phone onto the ground. You splashed cold water onto your face and looked into the mirror with puffy eyes and shaking hands.

What were you going to do? The world couldn't have ended. Right? You should have noticed sooner. "Fuck," you said, pulling on your shoes and grabbed your car keys, you got into your car, "fuck!"

As it turns out, you did in fact miss the ending of the world. You yelled obscenities and banged on your steering wheel. The entire small town you lived near was deserted. Windows were boarded up and cars were parked by the road with tires missing or windows smashed in.

You missed the entire end of the world.

As it turns out, the end of the world wasn't that bad. Nothing really changed. Well besides the rarity of getting your hands on heat suppressants and scent blockers. The first week after you finally got caught up on the whole "the world has ended" thing you raided.

You avoided using your car after you got a mild scare that someone else had been attracted to the noise. Hiding in the very smelly gas station bathroom while you listened to the sound of boots crunching on glass was enough to teach you that lesson.

You tore apart the pharmacy the first week, finding what had to be at least four months worth of scent blockers and nine months of heat suppressants. You took everything you deemed useful and stuffed it into your backpack before hiking back home.

You set up a routine, patrol the forest edge twice a day, care for your garden and check any trap for animals to eat. Self sufficiency had never been such a blessing.

It was the middle of winter three years later when you first saw them.

Men. No, not just men. Alphas. Their scent almost made your knees buckle when you smelt it down wind. For a moment your mind went hazy as their smells flooded your mind until that part of your brain that had been responsible for your survival kicked back in.

Alphas. In your territory. Your territory. It felt like a crime and you felt your inner omegas turmoil. As you watched the four men walk down the road that led into town through your binoculars you debated on what you should do. Run, flee while you are down wind. With shaky hands, whether from the cold or fear you didn't know, you climbed down from the perch you were on and sprinted back home while doing your best to cover your own tracks.

You went in circles, outside in the cold long past when your hands and feet had gone cold. But you were sure they couldn't follow. You were sure they didn't even know you were there.

Three years. You had been off of heat suppressants and scent blockers for years. After a while your heats had stopped coming, whether it was from lack of sleep or stress or some evolutionary thing that happened when no one to mate was around, the bottom line was that you were unprepared.

You boarded up your door and threw water on your fire. You grabbed every blanket in the house and ran into your bedroom. At first you did it for warmth. If you were going to hide you couldn't have fire to give out smoke and you needed to be warm.

Then you continued to mess with the blankets and pillows. You huffed, growing increasingly frustrated at your inability to get it right. You grabbed your laundry and threw it in too, arranged and rearranged until it felt right. It wasn't until you took a step back that you realized what you had done. Something you haven't in years. Before you was a nest. Large enough to fit many in it. Maybe even five. You swallowed hard as your fingers dug into your stomach. It was going to be a long winter.

[kiirschtein-archive]

⋆ 「 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢’𝐬 (𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞) 𝐦𝐨𝐦. 」 ⋆

feat. — toji fushiguro x f!reader, kid!megumi

word count. — 1.4k

content. — sfw, non-sorcerer au, established relationship (marriage), mostly just fluffy domestic stuff, reader is addressed as ‘mom/mama/mommy,’ toji’s kind of a bad parent but he’s working on it, brief mention of toji smoking (cigarettes), overprotective!toji, very minor suggestive themes (from toji 🙄 he’s a walking cw/tw)

notes. — idk. this has been incessantly on my brain pretty much from the moment i  woke up today, even to the point where i was writing half of this at  the laundromat lmao. mother’s day yesterday had me feeling some type of way, so here have some fun headcanons from a strange eldest daughter!!!! (i might end up doing a set of these for gojo x reader too 🤔)

⋆ 「 — he’s not your biological son, but you’ve been around since you started seeing toji when megumi was still a baby. but now, a few years later, you might as well be his real mother. you certainly act like it and feel like it, so toji gladly initiates the conversation about official adoption. it just makes sense. you eventually explain the situation to megumi as best as you can simply so that he doesn't grow up thinking he was lied to or anything of the sort, but as far as he's concerned, you're his mom whether it's by blood or not.

⋆ 「 — and oh, megumi’s a mama’s boy. i imagine he’s just a little bit of a healthier kid vs. canon given the better family situation, but he’s still always a bit of a grumpy baby, appreciating his autonomy and trying to be as self-sufficient and mature as he can be. but he’ll most certainly run to you when he needs help, is truly hurt, or just needing a bit of comfort. you’ve always treated him so softly and kindly with understanding, so he honestly feels more comfortable coming to you most of the time instead of his dad.

⋆ 「 — he likes the way you organize the bookshelf in his room or fold and sort his clothes in special little ways. he gets upset any time toji tries to put a book back in the wrong place or can’t figure out where his damn socks are. gumi will scowl and say, “that’s not where it goes.” or go deadpan and be like, “mom always keeps the socks in the bottom drawer.” disappointed that his father can’t even remember. toji just grumbles and says, “your mama’s gonna ruin you.”

⋆ 「 — has called you 'mom' basically since he was old enough, but don't let him fool you. megumi will drop the big boy act and come out with 'mama' or 'mommy' when something's wrong or he's really excited. he'll come to you with quiet tears and sniffles, a little ashamed that he's crying, but present to you a scraped elbow, "mama... it hurts." you clean up the scrape and explain to him the little medical details in a somewhat understandable way to help him focus on something besides the pain, and you tell him that it'll be okay, and that it's alright to cry. or on the flip-side, you and toji take him to the zoo, little gumi on his dad's shoulders, and he gasps and points excitedly, "look, mommy! look at the big elephant!" and it feels incredible to see him be so spirited.

⋆ 「 — along the lines of the art from this post and the thought i had about it earlier, just imagine that you're at some event (maybe like a birthday party or something), and toji's been hauling megumi around. they're both so over it at this point and are like 'please get me out of this' so as soon as toji walks past the obnoxious inflatable bouncy house, he smirks and just YEETS that kid inside without a second thought. after regaining his breath, megumi just looks at his father with the most EVIL little scowl as other kids bounce around him with smiles. by the look on that child's face you could've swore that his father had just done him the ultimate betrayal.

so gumi slides out and hurriedly makes his way over to where you're sitting off to the side, quietly climbing into your lap for a little bit of solace. he wiggles in close to your chest and you tuck him under your chin with a ‘come here, sweetpea,’ rocking slowly and humming something soft because he always seems to like it when you do.

toji comes over and you look at him through narrowed eyes. "kids are supposed to like shit like that," he says.

"you know he likes when things are more quiet," you respond, and toji rolls his eyes at how you seemingly spoil your son.

"just thought it might be good for him to try and get along with the other brats." toji tries to cover up the fact that he tossed his kid for the sheer personal enjoyment of it.

you huff in disbelief. "oh, like you get along so well with everyone?"

he scoffs and moves in behind you, leaning down to place a kiss on your neck. "i get along with you," he says almost suggestively.

you just keep stroking megumi's hair and give the top of his head a gentle kiss. "yeah, well not today," you say, shooting a smug, resolute smile towards your husband, ultimately taking his son's side.

⋆ 「 — outside of his alone time, megumi would honestly much rather be with you instead of other children. toji thinks it's probably unhealthy and you're inclined to agree, but you also don't want to force megumi into situations that will just make him miserable. so, when appropriate, you don't mind at all pacing around with him in your arms or have him walk next to you (maybe holding your hand if he’s not in a ‘big boy’ mood), teaching him about the things you see in the woods, the park, or even the museum. when toji's not away working, he'll join too because it admittedly makes his heart feel soft to watch you two together. it always has, because you've been doing this with megumi since he was a baby. it never gets old. if it wasn't already so difficult trying to figure out how to do things right by his son, he'd want you to give him even more babies.

⋆ 「 — megumi likes doing things with his dad sometimes too, though. toji tries his best to do it right and watch both his mouth and his temper. you like seeing them getting along, even if it's just quietly watching tv or a movie (probably a cartoon where toji gets kind of into and will ask the occasional question like "why does that one stupid chick keep doing that?" and megumi just shrugs like, "i dunno. she is pretty dumb.") or playing ball outside because gumi's starting to show some athleticism. but you have to remind toji that he can't always be so rough or competitive with games because megumi is literally a child.

⋆ 「 — toji can also be way too overprotective of you two at times. you'll be out and about and he'll just be wearing such an intimidating expression as he walks behind you both, on the lookout for anyone who might want to cause trouble or take the wrong sort of glance at his wife. he'll even snap at people for walking too close or like cutting in line or something petty, and you have to tell him stop acting like an attack dog and looking like the grim reaper because dear god you're literally just having lunch at the park. even at his age, megumi's just eating his ice cream and looking at his dad with his little baby deadpan expression and thinking "this man really needs to take a chill pill." other times he can be more relaxed, however, obviously confident in his ability to protect you. it depends on his mood. but that still doesn’t stop him from being embarrassing and going off on people in public if something happens.

⋆ 「 — you also know all of gumi’s favorite meals and snacks. it’s yet another one of those things where, if his dad does it wrong, megumi expresses a disappointment beyond his years. toji will be making and packing his son’s school lunch just as instructed by the notes you gave him, but it’s by no means as neat and meticulous as when you do it. toji’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth with furrowed, concentrating brows, his free hand shakily reaching for a cup of fresh coffee, and megumi’s standing there with his little backpack, criticizing his father the entire time. “mom doesn’t do it like that,” he says.

“well mom ain’t here right now. and it doesn’t matter how the sandwich is cut, is still tastes the damn same.”

gumi doesn’t even physically react, still wearing the same neutral expression, just waiting for his dad to hurry up. “mom says you shouldn’t smoke. and she also says not to use bad words.”

toji scoffs and then smirks. “well mommy uses all sorts of bad words you don’t even know about when her and daddy have play time.”

megumi’s already almost late for school and can barely feel his feet from how tight his dad tied his shoelaces. he also asks you later about “play time,” and you want to absolutely murder your husband over it.

[p0orbaby]

All I Want for Christmas

summary: your daughter didn’t get the one present she really wanted

warnings: none !

a/n: thank you for the request, i hope you like it !

word count: 2.9k

-

You notice something’s off with Eliana two days after Christmas. At first, it’s subtle—an anomaly so slight it could almost be chalked up to post-holiday fatigue. Normally, mornings with Eliana are chaotic in a way that feels both exhausting and oddly necessary, as though the house depends on her noise to keep it from crumbling into silence. She bursts into the day like a firework: her small feet slapping against the wood floors, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her voice ricocheting between pitches as she narrates her life in real time or belts out whatever song has recently embedded itself in her psyche.

Today, there’s none of that. She lingers in her pyjamas—a pair with faded unicorns that she refuses to let you throw away despite the fraying cuffs—long after breakfast. When you remind her to brush her teeth, she drags her feet, her movements lethargic in a way that feels rehearsed, like she’s trying to stretch each step into eternity. It’s the absence of urgency that unsettles you. Eliana thrives on urgency. She once cried because Alexia beat her to the front door when the postman rang.

But this morning, there’s no competition. No noise. No off-key rendition of Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo echoing from the bathroom as she “forgets” to spit out her toothpaste. You’re struck by how quiet the house feels. Not peaceful—just wrong.

By lunch, the feeling hardens into certainty. Eliana picks at her sandwich with the detached precision of someone performing a task they’ve been paid to complete. She peels the crust away slowly, meticulously, her small fingers working like a jeweller inspecting a flawed diamond. The crust sits in a neat pile beside her plate, untouched. So do the carrot sticks you’ve artfully arranged into a star shape—an attempt to disguise healthy food as something fun. Usually, she’d at least nibble on the points before declaring them “too crunchy.” Today, she doesn’t even bother with the charade.

And then there’s the Coke. You could write a thesis on Eliana’s Coke-stealing habits. How she waits, biding her time like a cat stalking prey, until you’re sufficiently distracted—mid-sentence, mid-bite, mid-thought. The moment your guard drops, she strikes: clutching the can with both hands, her face breaking into a grin so triumphant it’s impossible to be mad. You always let her have one sip, though you draw the line at more. She doesn’t push her luck; she knows where the boundary is and takes satisfaction in skirting it.

But today, the Coke sits untouched. You leave it on the table deliberately, watching her from the corner of your eye, waiting for the familiar rustle of movement. It doesn’t come. She doesn’t even glance at it.

Alexia notices it too. She’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing the cutting board she insists on hand-washing because the dishwasher “ruins the wood” (a claim you’ve never verified but don’t argue against). “She’s been quiet today,” Alexia murmurs, glancing towards the living room. Her tone is casual, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

You follow her gaze. Eliana is curled up on the sofa, her knees drawn to her chest, her chin resting on top of them. The TV plays some saccharine animated film about magical snowmen and plucky penguins—one of those films where everything sparkles unnaturally, and the characters blink too often. Normally, Eliana would be transfixed, laughing at all the wrong parts and narrating the plot aloud despite everyone already watching. But today, she’s motionless. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, as though the screen is a window to a world she can’t quite enter.

“Maybe she’s tired,” you say, though you don’t believe it. Eliana doesn’t do tired. Even as a baby, she fought sleep like it was a personal enemy, crying herself hoarse rather than admit defeat. Sleep was a battle you rarely won outright; most nights, you settled for a stalemate.

Alexia doesn’t look convinced either. She dries her hands on a dishtowel, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” she says. “This isn’t like her”

It isn’t. And that terrifies you in a way you can’t fully articulate. You watch her from the kitchen doorway, your hand resting lightly on the frame, as though bracing yourself against an invisible weight. She looks small. Fragile. The kind of fragile that makes you want to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her from the world.

But it’s not her size that unnerves you—it’s the silence. Eliana’s silence feels like an absence, like something crucial has been taken away without your permission. You can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, though you don’t know what.

And that, more than anything, is what scares you.

-

You get your answer that evening, during bedtime. Eliana’s room is a testament to her devotion to pink—a monochromatic sanctuary where even the air seems tinged with a rosy hue. The walls are painted a soft blush, a decision you regretted halfway through applying the third coat but one you could never take back once she saw the finished product and declared it “princess perfect.” Her duvet cover is a riot of pastel stars, most faded from repeated wash cycles and the occasional chocolate milk spill. On her bedside table sits a lamp with a shade adorned with tiny ballerinas, their poses forever frozen mid-pirouette.

The bookshelves, crammed to the edges, are an organised chaos of her literary life. Picture books dominate the lower shelves—familiar titles with tattered spines that you could recite in your sleep (Guess How Much I Love You has practically become your mantra). Higher up, a collection of chapter books gathers dust, ambitious purchases she insisted on during a trip to the bookstore, her eyes wide with determination. She struggles with the longer words but refuses to ask for help, insisting on piecing together syllables with the kind of stubborn grit that feels both infuriating and endearing. She gets that from you.

You tuck her in with the practised efficiency of someone who has made a ritual out of bedtime. She clutches Mr Snuggles, a stuffed rabbit so battered it looks like it’s survived a war zone. He’s missing an eye, his fur matted beyond recognition, but to Eliana, he’s irreplaceable. You know this because you’ve tried to replace him—multiple times, in fact. You’ve scoured boutique toy stores, online shops, and even eBay, searching for a plush rabbit with vaguely similar dimensions. Each attempt has been met with disdain. “It’s not him,” she always says, clutching Mr Snuggles tighter as though you’d threatened to take him away permanently.

“You’ve been quiet today,” you say, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. Her hair has reached that awkward in-between length where it’s too long to leave unchecked but too short to do anything meaningful with. She hates the hairdressers, the stiff capes they drape over her, and the stylist’s endless chatter about her favourite Disney princess. You’ll have to bribe her with ice cream to get her there.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifts upwards, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as though it holds the answer to some unspoken question. Her fingers tighten around Mr Snuggles, her thumb absently stroking the spot where his eye used to be. Finally, she speaks.

“Santa didn’t bring me what I wanted”

Your stomach twists in the way it does when you know something is wrong, but you can’t yet identify what. “What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your tone light. “He brought you loads of things. That dollhouse you’ve been asking for since May, the colouring set with the glitter pens—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice soft but resolute. “I wanted a sister”

You blink. “You wanted what?”

“A sister,” she repeats, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he didn’t bring me one”

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. Your brain cycles through a series of fragmented thoughts: What? When? How? You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Alexia to materialise in the doorway, her presence offering a lifeline. But the hallway is empty, save for the faint hum of the washing machine on its spin cycle. You’re on your own.

“When… when did you ask Santa for a sister?” you manage, your voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face.

“At school,” she says matter-of-factly. “We wrote letters. Miss García said we could ask for anything we wanted”

“And you asked for a sister?”

She nods, her expression solemn in the way only a six-year-old can manage when they think they’ve been wronged.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me? Or Mamá?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise”

You press your fingers to your temples, as if physically holding your head together will help you process what you’re hearing. A surprise. Of course. Eliana watches you with wide eyes, her expression expectant. It dawns on you that she’s waiting for an explanation.

“Well,” you begin, your words slow and deliberate, as though carefully navigating a minefield, “Santa doesn’t… bring people as presents”

“Why not?”

Because it’s illegal. Because Santa isn’t real. Because your wife and I can barely handle the one child we already have.

“Because,” you say instead, stalling, “that’s not how it works. Sisters are… different. You don’t get them from Santa”

Her brow furrows, and for a moment, she looks startlingly like Alexia—her small face drawn into a frown of concentration, as though dissecting your words for hidden meaning. “Then where do they come from?”

You pause, the weight of the question settling over you like a heavy blanket. There are a dozen ways you could answer this, most of them wildly inappropriate for a six-year-old. You settle on, “From Parents, sweetheart”

She considers this for a moment, her head tilting slightly to the side. “So can you and Mamá make me one?”

The question hangs in the air, absurd and sincere in equal measure. You feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Or cry. Or both. “It’s not that simple, Eliana”

“Why not?”

Before you can answer, Alexia appears in the doorway, her hair pulled into a loose bun, her face flushed from the effort of folding laundry. She takes one look at your face, at the strained expression and the faint sheen of panic in your eyes, and bursts out laughing.

-

Later that night, after Eliana is finally asleep, you and Alexia sit in the living room, letting the weight of the day settle over you. The room is dim except for the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, blinking lazily in alternating patterns. The air smells faintly of pine needles and the remnants of the vanilla candle Alexia lit hours ago but forgot to blow out. There’s an almost sacred stillness in the house, the kind that feels rare and precious when you have a six-year-old.

Alexia hands you a glass of wine, her fingers brushing yours for a moment longer than necessary. She sits beside you on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her and pulling a blanket over both of your laps. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie—yours, you think, judging by the way the sleeves swallow her hands—and a pair of faded joggers. Her hair is loose, falling in soft waves around her face, and there’s a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye that she hasn’t bothered to wipe off.

She looks tired but beautiful, the kind of beauty that feels effortless and intimate, like a secret only you’re privy to. It makes your chest ache in a way you don’t entirely understand.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “our daughter asked Santa for a sister”

You exhale, shaking your head as you take a sip of wine. It’s red, something bold and expensive that Alexia brought home last week. She has a knack for choosing good wine, even though she always claims it’s pure luck. “She did”

“And she’s heartbroken Santa didn’t deliver,” Alexia adds, her tone half-amused, half-disbelieving.

“She is,” you say, setting your glass on the coffee table. The table itself is covered in the detritus of Christmas: an abandoned roll of wrapping paper, a pair of scissors, and the instructions for the dollhouse you spent three hours assembling on Christmas Eve while Alexia supervised with a glass of champagne in hand.

Alexia leans back, stretching her legs across your lap. Her socked feet are warm against your thigh, and she wiggles her toes absently as she looks at you. “What do you think?” she asks, her voice light, as if she’s testing the waters.

“About Eliana asking for a sister?”

“No,” she says, her lips twitching into a small smile. “About giving her one”

You laugh, a short, sharp sound that feels more defensive than amused. “You can’t be serious”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” you repeat, incredulous. “Because we barely survived the first time around. Do you not remember the colic? The sleepless nights? The time she screamed for three hours straight because she didn’t like the colour of her bib?”

Alexia tilts her head, as if genuinely considering your words. “She was a baby. That’s what babies do”

“Exactly. And you want to do it all over again?”

Her smile widens, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes now. “Maybe”

You groan, leaning your head back against the sofa. “You’re insane”

“I’m not,” she insists, nudging your thigh with her foot. “Think about it. Eliana’s older now. She’s more independent. She’s in school most of the day. We’re not in the trenches anymore”

“The trenches,” you mutter, reaching for your wine again.

Alexia shifts closer, her foot still resting against your thigh. “I loved it, you know. All of it. Even the hard parts”

“You loved it?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I loved being a mum to a newborn. Watching her grow, seeing all the little things she learned every day. It was… magical”

You glance at her, and the soft, wistful expression on her face makes something inside you twist.

“And you,” she continues, her voice lowering slightly, “you were amazing”

“Alexia,” you say, a hint of warning in your tone.

“I’m serious,” she says, her hand finding yours beneath the blanket. Her fingers are warm, her grip gentle but insistent. “You were. You still are. And when you were pregnant…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

She grins, her teeth catching the light. “You were insatiable”

“Oh, for God’s sake”

“It’s true,” she says, laughing now. “I could barely keep up with you”

“You managed,” you mutter, taking another sip of wine.

Her laughter fades into a softer, more thoughtful smile. “I’m just saying,” she says, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again”

You study her, trying to discern if she’s really serious or just testing the waters. But there’s something in her eyes, a quiet certainty that unnerves you.

“You really want another baby,” you say, not quite a question.

She nods. “I do”

“And when were you planning on telling me this?”

She shrugs, looking faintly sheepish. “I don’t know. I guess I was waiting for the right moment”

“Like now? After our daughter guilt-tripped us with her Santa request?”

Alexia laughs, and the sound is warm and infectious. “Exactly”

You shake your head, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable”

“I’m practical,” she counters. “Think about it. We can afford it. We have the space. The time. A great support system. Mami would love to help us out again”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to tell her we’re thinking about having another baby? You know she’ll start knitting booties the second the words leave your mouth”

Alexia shrugs, unbothered. “Let her. Eliana would love matching booties for her and her sibling”

The image of Eliana holding a tiny, wriggling baby flashes in your mind, unbidden. It’s too cute, too perfect, and you push it away before it can take root.

“It’s not just about logistics,” you say quietly.

“I know,” Alexia says, her voice softening. “But we’ve done this before. We know what to expect now. And we’re not the same people we were back then. We’re stronger. Better”

You glance at her, at the quiet confidence in her expression, and feel a pang of guilt for doubting her. She’s right, of course. You’ve come so far since those early days with Eliana. But still, the thought of starting over feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know,” you say finally. “It’s a lot to think about”

Alexia nods, her thumb still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand. “I’m not asking for a decision tonight. Just… think about it”

You nod, letting your head rest against her shoulder. The wineglass dangles from your fingers, forgotten. The weight of her hand on yours, the steady rise and fall of her breath, grounds you.

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Then Alexia speaks again, her voice so soft you almost don’t hear her.

“She’d be a great big sister,” she says. “Don’t you think?”

You close your eyes, letting the words settle over you. In your mind’s eye, you see Eliana again, her wide, hopeful eyes as she clutched Mr Snuggles to her chest. You see her laughing, running through the park with a smaller version of herself trailing behind her.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “She would”

[rhaenyra-storms]

Aegon x healer!reader where reader is affectionate yet professional? She's taking care of him like a child and Aegon, being a meow meow with mommy issues has fallen hard.

oh, we all know aegon has deep mommy issues, so this is definitely something i can imagine happening heheh

pairing: aegon targaryen x f!reader warnings: aegon is falling hard AND FAST, mommy issues, description of an open wound, blood, he just wants to be cared for, aegon could be a warning (but he's soft in this), alcohol addiction words: 1.5k

masterlist

Aegon didn't want to fall in love with you. It was really more of an accident in his eyes. Growing up with his mother's influence and going through a phase of defying her and then obeying her, he could maybe trace his interest in you back to that.

He always wanted to impress his mother like Aemond did. He wasn't as gentle as Helaena or as strong as Aemond.

Maybe he just wanted someone to care for him and just him. His mother had always been bouncing between the realm, his father and his siblings. All those expectations set upon him from a young age had made him turn to alcohol and it was the only thing strong enough to numb his thoughts in a sufficient way.

Until you came along.

You were meant to check in on him, making sure the king was healthy and well. Most of his servants didn't really engage in friendly conversation with him, so he didn't expect you to be any different.

It was a rainy day when you had come in to check out a bruise on his skin that didn't seem to disappear for weeks. It wasn't anything serious, based on your knowledge, but you took your time that day and it was just you and the King in the room. Aegon had been in a rather bad mood the entire time you had been here, but the silence was uncomfortable as only the storm could be heard raging outside.

"Did you plan on going outside today, your grace?” You asked him as you stirred the ointment you had prepared a few minutes ago.

Aegon never liked to talk and he loved to avert his gaze from you all the time.

On the few occasions you had met his brother, Prince Aemond, you could tell that this was a key difference between them. You often felt like the younger prince's eye never left you, burning holes into your back even when you didn't look at him.

Your presence seemed to annoy him. So you didn't really expect him to answer at all, but at least you would have tried to make a bit of friendly conversation.

"Not really. We're having a council meeting later on."

Aegon's voice was more quiet than usual, his gaze distant as he watched the rain pour in buckets outside.

You tried to hide the surprise you were feeling. This was the most words Aegon had ever spoken to you, but you didn't want to ruin the moment by telling him that. "I hope it goes well, your grace," you replied instead, moving closer to the King.

"Would you mind showing me the bruise again?"

Aegon complied without another word, stretching out his arm and pulling his sleeve up.

He noticed how gentle you were when you applied the ointment to his skin and for a short moment, he even took a closer look at you. The King had met a few healers throughout his life, but none of them had been as pretty as you were.

She is not yours to desire.

His mother's voice echoed in his head. When he was younger, Aegon took whatever he wanted, but he felt too exhausted for that now. While the wine was able to drown out his worries, he always felt like catastrophe was right around the corner. They were heading towards a war and in the private confines of his chambers, he didn't have the energy to act confident anymore.

He didn't even thank you when you were done with your work. You were just dismissed, as usual, but you couldn't help feeling a little satisfied that you had coaxed a few words out of the King at least.

Most of your meetings with the King followed the same pattern. However, he did let a few more words slip each time.

Once, you even managed to make him laugh with a simple joke of yours.

You had heard Aegon laugh before. It was always a loud and menacing one, but that one time you had joked with him, his laugh was gentle and almost too quiet to be heard.

It had been two weeks since your last visit to the King and there wasn't any scheduled meeting ahead of you. You had done your routine checks the last time you had seen him and unless he hurt himself badly, you wouldn't be called upon.

The sun had already disappeared behind the trees of the King's Wood as you prepared to call it a day for now. You were on your way back to the castle gates, having finished a visit to the King's brother, when a Knight of the Kingsguard caught up with you in the hallway.

"I am sorry to disturb you, m'lady, but the King has hurt himself and needs your assistance."

There wasn't any room for you to argue here. You were tired and wanted to go home for the day, but if the King was in need of your help, you weren't in a position to deny it. You didn't even find yourself wanting to. What had Aegon gotten into this time?

His guard didn't follow you inside the room. Instead, he closed the heavy doors behind you and for a moment, you couldn't even spot Aegon in the room.

However, you could hear quiet groans from behind the blinds opposite of you. "Your grace?"

Aegon tumbled towards you eventually, clutching his left hand with his right one. "I need your help."

His pale skin was stained with blood. The red liquid dropped onto the floor and your breath caught in your throat. You placed your pack of supplies down, grabbing the first towel you could find in it and rushed over to him.

Aegon's face had turned red, his eyes fixated on you as you gently manoeuvred him over to a chair, wrapping the towel around his injured hand.

"What happened, your grace?" You asked, pressing the fabric against the wounds.

"I cut myself." His right hand wasn't injured, but it was covered in blood. He pointed to the other side of the room where glass shards were scattered over the floor and more bloodstains could be seen around them.

"I need to clean the wound first. Stay here," you mumbled quickly and rushed over to retrieve a clean wipe before soaking it with alcohol. You didn't want to risk the king getting an infection and you definitely had to talk to the maester to keep a close eye on him from now on. If he was showing the slightest signs of a fever, you should be called immediately.

Aegon's head hurt, but it didn't stop him from staring at you. The worried expression in your eyes... he was rarely able to see it aimed at him. Everyone always looked at him greedily or with hatred glowing in their eyes. He wasn't loveable and everyone around him made sure to tell him that.

But when you cleaned and bandaged his wounds, talking softly to him while doing so, and looking like you cared, he for once felt like someone could genuinely like him. It didn't have to be love, of course, but he felt like he was experiencing it in some way.

You were smart and beautiful and you cared enough for Aegon to let his guard down. Enjoy your beautiful eyes and bathe in the feeling of genuinely being cared for.

It was happening fast. Too fast.

But all he had ever known were the cold stares from his mother, his brother and especially his wife and sister.

"You need to be more careful, A-"

Your breath caught in your throat. "I am sorry, your grace, I-"

Aegon lifted his healthy hand for a moment. "Don't worry about it. I prefer Aegon anyway."

Had he ever allowed a servant to call him by his name? No. Did it feel right to have you do it when you always gave him those sweet smiles? Definitely. "It's just Aegon," he clarified.

Your eyes visibly widened at the correction. It was surprising that the King would allow you to call him by his first name, but you wouldn't complain. He looked more content after he offered it to you and that expression looked good on him.

"Of course. Just Aegon," you smiled, closing the bandage around his hand once and for all. You then filled a cup with water, handing it to the King and your patient. "Drink. It would be best for you to rest and not put too much pressure on your left hand."

While Aegon always loved to defy whatever someone told him to do, he was happy to oblige this time. He took the cup from you and downed it in one go, placing it back down on the table afterwards.

"Thank you. For..."

When had he ever genuinely thanked someone in the last few years?

"For helping me."

You let out a small laugh, looking at the man in front of you. "There is no need to thank me, Aegon. It's my profession after all. Helping you and looking after you."

Your voice was so sweet and soft, it sounded like music to Aegon's ears. He wanted to hear it play more often from now on.

He couldn't keep cutting himself on purpose to make you care for him, but he could invite you to more joyful meetings.

Because it felt good to actually be cared for. Especially by someone as beautiful as you.

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 6

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there! Chapter dedicated to @marianafairybread because she always wants to be first in the chapter's comment section... and she did it! haha

Reaching out, he grabbed the first items he found, dropping them into his basket with little thought. ‘I should’ve gone to Trost’, he mused.

The small rural town near the Scout facility didn’t offer much in terms of variety. Most locals lived self-sufficiently, farming or raising livestock. Trost, on the other hand, was farther away, and with his limited free time, it wasn’t an option this week. The act of grocery shopping felt like a distant memory, more of an abstract concept than a routine he’d ever mastered.

In the underground, homes were more like squatter's shelters—claimed rather than owned. Kitchens were either non-existent or barely functional, forcing most people to rely on taverns for meals. He’d done the same. If he wanted more than bread and cheese, he’d head out for something warm. He recalled the occasional market day when he’d taken Isabel to pick out “whatever she wanted,” keeping his hood up to avoid attention.

The image flashed briefly—Isabel, beaming, holding up a packet of cookies, seeking his approval. The memory flickered and faded as he reached for some pastries on display at the bakery. They weren’t much, but they were more than plain crackers.

He picked items at random, a mixture of reluctance and uncertainty guiding his choices. This should do, he thought, noticing the baker’s daughter lugging a heavy tray of milk buns to the counter. Her flour-streaked apron and flushed cheeks gave her the look of someone used to hard work.

Levi cleared his throat.

“Oh, are you done, Captain?” the girl asked, dusted her hands off before packing his selections into paper bags. She couldn’t have been older than his newly proclaimed wife.

“Can I get a dozen of those, too?” He pointed at the fresh white bread.

She blinked, surprised but obliging. “Of course.” As she moved to fulfil his request, she added, “I dare say, Captain, it’s surprising to see you here like this. You hardly ever shop in town.”

Levi hummed noncommittally, neither confirming nor denying. He glanced over his shoulder at his squad, who were busy loading supplies onto the cart, too preoccupied to notice him.

“Is someone sick at HQ? The weather’s been wild lately,” the girl continued, clearly eager for conversation. She might have assumed someone had caught the flu, forcing him into town for soft bread to tide them over until rations were delivered.

“No,” Levi replied curtly, “But yeah, it’s been raining a lot.”

“Do you sell dairy?” he asked, shifting topics as he mentally ticked off his list.

The girl shook her head. “No, that’s Gilbert. He’s around—want me to call him?”

Before Levi could answer, she turned to the back window and shouted, “Gilbert!” Her voice was startlingly loud and commanding, a sharp contrast to her polite demeanour moments earlier. She returned with a cheery smile. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

Levi barely had time to process before, a young man with a dishevelled look and a peaky cap leaned into the window, clearly irritated.

“What now, May?” he grumbled.

‘They’re close’, Levi noted. ‘Well, this town’s so damn small, everyone is.’

Gilbert’s attitude flipped the moment he spotted Levi. “Captain,” he greeted, pulling off his cap and nodding respectfully.

“He’s asking about dairy,” May informed him, returning to her chores.

“Oh, is someone sick?” Gilbert asked, shifting his attention to Levi.

“No, just need milk, cheese, maybe butter. I can’t keep coming down here every time I run out. Do you deliver to the countryside?”

“Of course.” Gilbert nodded. “Leave the empties near the stables. I’ll replace them when I see them.”

“That’ll do,” Levi agreed, pulling out his wallet. He suspected other Scouts’ Squad Leaders had lived a little less frugally than he did. ‘Like Eyebrows,’ he thought grimly. But at that time, most of them where gone.

“I’m just surprised you’re shopping here now,” May chimed in, a sly smile on her face. “Is everything alright at HQ?”

“Yes.”

“I thought the Scouts had a deal with the Reeves Company,” Gilbert added, leaning on the window frame.

Levi hesitated. Socializing wasn’t his strength, but ripping the bandage off now seemed the easiest option. “It’s for my wife,” he said plainly.

Silence fell, heavy and awkward. Levi pressed his lips together; it simply didn’t feel real to pronounce those words. Saying them out loud confused him, it just made no sense for him but it was real. Almost like a weird illusion.  The girl’s fake innocence vanished, replaced by a look of irritation and disappointment. Gilbert, on the other hand, stifled a laugh poorly by noticing her face.

“Congratulations,” the girl muttered begrudgingly.

“Congratulations, Captain,” Gilbert said, grinning. “Actually, my father mentioned something about it, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Thanks,” Levi replied curtly, eager to leave.

“Where’s she staying? Maybe she’d like to join us, the girls and I, for tea,” May asked, her tone a forced blend of sweetness and curiosity.

‘For fucks sake, just drop it,’ Levi decided to ignore it as the young man set four glass bottles of milk and some extras. Levi paid, though May tried to refuse. “It’s on the house, Captain,” she insisted.

“Come on, I grabbed a lot,” he countered.

“And my mother would be thrilled knowing Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’s wife is eating her recipes,” she insisted.

Reluctantly, Levi accepted, gathering the bags with practiced efficiency. She resumed her prying. “Let us know where she’s staying! We’ll invite her out!”

“She’s at HQ for now.”

May’s surprise was evident. “I didn’t know civilians could live at HQ.”

“Let them be,” Gilbert teased, nudging her arm. “Newlyweds can’t stand being apart, especially this time of year.” His comment made her giggle and blush.

—

“I paid for those groceries with my dignity,”

“I mean… they’re kind of right; don’t you think? What’s a civilian doing at military headquarters?” The brunette nudged the captain, attempting to keep the conversation alive. “You can’t just keep her locked up in your quarters forever, you know.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I know. But where the hell am I supposed to put her? In the stables?”

Hange’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, despite Levi’s clear frustration. “Oh, we could go house-hunting! I’ve always wanted to do that!” They grinned, as if this were an adventure. “Owning a house is one of my wildest dreams! Right up there with seeing the outside world. I can’t believe I got to see the ocean before I could even afford a house—but hey, that’s the economy for you.” Hange chuckled, undeterred.

“I’ll have to have a word with that asshole Zackly. I can’t keep her living off charity,” Levi muttered. His long list of responsibilities felt like tackling a Hydra—cut off one head, and two more grew in its place.

“So?... Did she like them? Or is she still sticking to that hunger strike?” Hange leaned back; their cheeks already flushed from the alcohol. They’d shifted from standing close to the captain to sprawling in their own chair, drink in hand.

“There was never a hunger strike. She just hates our food,” Levi replied dryly. “Not that I blame her. But she’d better start getting used to it. I’m not hiring her a private chef, and she can’t live off cookies and cheese forever.”

The memory of earlier that day surfaced unbidden.

“You’re back!” she said, startled, stepping out of the room quickly to meet him.

“I brought you something to eat.” Levi set the bags down on the table. Unlike her usual cautious approach with the trays he brought, she dove right into inspecting the bags, curiosity lighting up her face.

She peeked into each bag, her expression softening with genuine delight.

Levi caught himself staring—maybe for the first time since they met, he noticed something resembling happiness on her face.

“Oh!” she squealed, pulling out the buns and bringing one to her nose. She inhaled deeply, savouring the sweet scent before tearing a piece off and taking a generous bite.

“Try not to fill up before dinner,” he warned gruffly. He remembered the previous night’s “dinner,” which had mostly involved her picking through the stew like it was poison.

But her eyes, bright and grateful, met his. She made an effort to swallow quickly, breaking the eye contact momentarily, then said softly, “Thank you.”

“Oww. Look at you, all doting. Your little alpha brain was probably glowing,” Hange teased with a wide grin.

Levi frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on, Levi. Alphas instinctively provide for their mates. Bringing her food is, like, prime courting behaviour—”

“Spare me the biology lesson,” Levi cut them off sharply. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense for one day.”

He reached for his glass, hoping it would hide the faint heat creeping up his neck. He’d dreamed of her the previous night. Not just of her, but of marking her—claiming her in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to think about while awake.

“At least her scent’s calming down,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hange. “Maybe now I can actually think straight.”

The last remaining veteran hummed faintly, their approval distant as they leaned back in their swinging chair, eyes closed. Sleep-deprivation from endless responsibilities and the alcohol in their system created a perfect cocktail for them to drift into dreamland almost instantly.

Levi, however, let his head hang over the back of his seat, eyes shut. He sighed heavily. “The one thing I’m grateful for... is that those two are Betas. If they weren’t, I’d never hear the end of it.”

He was referring to the fact that the small-town folk—most of whom were Betas—couldn’t recognize or differentiate between the scent of a bonded or unbonded Alpha.

—

“Dear Nana,

How is everyone? How is Clauws doing?”

She carefully penned the letter, seated at a desk that wasn’t hers. The pen’s tip dipped into ink once more before gliding across the paper. Though countless questions buzzed in her mind, very few could actually be written down. Her grandmother had always been strict, but when everything fell apart, she was the first to offer support—a comforting presence her own mother hadn’t provided. Her mother, too preoccupied tending to the returned “head of the house,” had barely noticed her struggles.

“I’m sorry I ruined your dress, Nana,”

She paused, remembering the day her grandmother had handed her the cherished wedding gown. It was simpler in design, a reflection of the fashion back then. “A piece of me will be with you that day,” her grandmother had said.

The letter rambled in places, yet felt hollow in others. “Things are improving slowly. My belongings arrived two days ago, which was a clear improvement,” she wrote.

She smiled at the memory. How ridiculously happy she’d been to finally take a proper shower using her own soaps, hair products, skincare, and body lotions. At last, she could wear a dress that was hers.

Levi’s reaction to the mountain of boxes had been understated—a brief glance, a slight narrowing of his eyes—but he’d said nothing. His indifference almost tempted her to write: “Nana, is it normal for a husband to not be interested in you?” But she stopped herself.

Her initial theory had been that her appearance was to blame. The limited wardrobe and lack of self-care products had left her feeling dull. But after her belongings arrived, she took her time in the shower that night, ensuring every inch of her smelled pleasant.

—

Levi returned to his chambers after a long day, utterly drained. He kicked off his boots, but still bent down to align them perfectly by the wall. Scratching the back of his head, his hand moved instinctively to push the bathroom door open—only to stop short when he noticed the light was on.

Her startled squeak from inside made him freeze. The door slammed shut in his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping back to avoid getting hit. He’d completely forgotten she was there. Despite the subtle changes around his chambers—the rearranged furniture, the extra storage for her belongings—it hadn’t sunk in.

Levi waited a few moments, exhaustion weighing on him. Each blink grew slower, heavier. Finally, he sighed. “Is this going to take long? I need the bathroom,” he asked, voice calm but firm.

“No.”

He frowned, rolling his eyes as if following an invisible clock. “Is that a ‘No, I’m done,’ or a ‘No, I need more time’?”

“What does that even mean?” she called back, her muffled voice sounding farther away than it actually was.

Levi shifted his weight impatiently, hands on his hips. “It means your ‘just a minute’ is turning into an eternity.”

He opened the door, the abrupt motion startled Hange, who was working at the desk nearby. Levi muttered irritably under his breath, brushing past them. “Feel free to make yourself at home,” Hange quipped sarcastically, as if they didn’t burst into Levi’s chambers uninvited all the time.

“I need to use your bathroom,” Levi snapped. But after a quick glance inside, he wrinkled his nose, muttered, “Never mind, the cadet’s public ones are cleaner,” and left.

—

When he returned to his chambers later, exhaustion pulling at every step, she was seated there. Her freshly washed hair glowed with a soft sheen, and the dress she wore seemed to accentuate her figure in all the right ways. The change in her mood was palpable—she looked lighter, almost happy.

“You’re back earlier,” she said softly, breaking the silence. Perhaps the isolation was getting to her. She had no one to talk to but herself, and even her inner monologues were starting to feel unhinged.

“Yeah.” Levi didn’t elaborate, setting down a stack of papers he needed to finish. He poured himself a cup of tea and sat at his desk, ready to get to work.

But her gaze was intense, her attention unwavering. He raised his eyes slowly from the papers, catching her shy smile. She looked... almost embarrassed.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice betraying no emotion.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright with unspoken thoughts. Levi frowned inwardly. ‘She wants something’. Too tired for subtle games, he asked bluntly, “What do you need?”

“Oh, um… how was your day?” she asked, the long pause making her question feel like an afterthought.

“Busy.” He blinked slowly, waiting for her to get to the point. “What do you need?”

For Levi, this was attentiveness—cutting to the chase and solving her problems directly. But to her, it felt cold. Distant.

Pressing her lips together, she tried to maintain her optimism. “Don’t you notice something different?” she asked, her voice carrying the same tentative excitement as a child presenting a crayon drawing, they’ve poured their heart into.

Levi barely looked up from his work. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him after nonstop duties. “Your stuff arrived.”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Well, yes. You brought it.” She leaned forward slightly. “Something else.”

Levi, disinterested, returned to his papers. “My bathroom is crammed with packages of things that’ll be impossible to keep tidy. That it?”

Her smile faltered, the enthusiasm in her eyes dimming. “No,” she muttered.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the scratch of his pen on paper. Her drop in mood didn’t register with him immediately; his focus remained fixed on his work.

“Then I don’t know. I give up,” Levi finally said, his tone casual as though indulging in a child’s guessing game. “Communication is key, isn’t it?” He kept the conversation going, albeit with his usual bluntness. “I’ll be direct. I leave this place around six in the morning and come back around nine at night. When I get here, I just want to use the bathroom without waiting an hour. The rest of the day, it’s all yours.”

In his mind, he was simply setting boundaries—clarity prevented misunderstandings. “Settled accounts keep old friends,” as the saying went. He didn’t want resentment to build and cause an issue later.

“Sure,” she replied, her voice lacking the earlier spark.

Minutes passed in silence. Only then did Levi notice the shift in her mood. He tapped his pen against the desk, trying to shake off the sense of something being off. Straightening in his chair, he forced himself into a form of socialization that didn’t come naturally.

“How... was your day?” he asked, his tone awkward but sincere.

She gave him a faint, understanding smile. “It was good.”

“Good to hear,” he said, returning to his papers.

She replayed the events of the previous night in her mind, conflicted.

‘He called off my wedding and chose me with such determination... didn’t back out of the new arrangement when I lost my heat.’

She pieced together the events as though unraveling a mystery, searching for a missing clue.

‘He not only didn’t want to claim me… he’s simply not interested in me.’

A deep sigh escaped her as she ran a hand over her face. The confinement of the past few days had left her dizzy and drained.

‘Am I doing something wrong? Failing as a wife somehow?’

The thought of asking, ‘Captain, have we met before?’ lingered on the edge of her mind. How could a man so adamant about marrying her—a man who used his newfound authority after the uprising to demand her as his wife—not even know her?

‘We must have met before,’ she rationalized. ‘Perhaps at a ball? Maybe he knows my father?’

Yet, even as her thoughts spun, she arrived at a reluctant conclusion:

‘I don’t desire him to claim me, but at least he could be interested in me.’

If she could wish for one wedding gift, it would be for him to talk to her—about anything. She wanted to know if this marriage was punishment for her family, a humiliation disguised as duty, or if he was simply as severe and unyielding as he appeared.

She stood a few steps behind him, clutching the letter she had written earlier. Her eyes lingered on the curve of his bent head as he worked. When should she ask? Would it annoy him? What if he refused?

‘What if he doesn’t want me to contact my family anymore? Should I lie and say it’s for a friend?’

“Ehm,” she began hesitantly, catching his attention.

Levi glanced at her, waiting.

“I was wondering if you could send a letter for me?”

She braced for his reaction, expecting irritation or even outright anger. But Levi merely extended his hand.

“Sure,” he said simply.

Her initial shock passed quickly, and she moved closer, handing him the envelope. “Is... this alright?” she asked cautiously, testing the waters.

“Did you write the address correctly?”

“I think so.”

“Then I don’t see why not.”

They shared the same language, but their meanings never aligned. She questioned the morality of staying in contact with her past, while his thoughts drifted to streets and doorways, turning her words into something as practical as addresses.

Levi flipped the envelope over, his sharp eyes catching the empty space where the sender’s details should have been. Picking up his pen, he filled in the information himself, then reached for one of the stamps he used for his own correspondence. After affixing it to the envelope, he placed it atop the pile of outgoing letters.

“Done. With that stamp, it’ll be sent as a high priority.”

She wondered if this was some sort of test. “Alright, thank you,” she replied hesitantly, retreating slowly back to the room. Her cautious movement caught his attention.

‘Try talking to her, be sociable,’ Hange had urged him during lunch. ‘At least try to befriend her. You’re the only person she knows.’

The memory of that conversation made Levi press his lips together and exhale softly, though not loud enough to draw attention. His eyes scanned his desk as if it might somehow offer the social skills he so clearly lacked.

“You don’t have to leave. We can share the room.”

Those words stopped her in her tracks. After countless nights of waiting for his return and his insistence that he had too much work to spare time for her, she had assumed he didn’t want her there. Slowly, she walked back to the desk, hesitating before taking one of the armchairs in front of him.

Her mind was a battlefield of questions, but the voices of those who once told her that the success of a marriage depended on a woman’s quietness forced her to remain silent.

Levi, on the other hand, wished she would ramble about anything—or everything. ‘I’m not in a position to get picky’, he thought. It wasn’t that he particularly enjoyed talkative people— ‘no one likes a damn yapper’, he mused with a wry press of his lips—but he wished she didn’t seem so…scared.

Respect and fear had followed him like shadows since his underground days, and he had never found silence uncomfortable. But something about the absence of connection in their shared space unsettled him. This was his sanctuary: the room where veterans had snuck in to celebrate his birthday against his will; the room where he, Mike, and Hange had gotten high because the mess in their rooms drove him mad; the place Erwin would stumble into drunk to rant about aging before forgetting the entire conversation the next morning.

Now, she slept in his bed—a bed he rarely used unless he got any unexpected visit for a night or two. She had gone through his drawers, where condoms, hardly touched lube, and those ridiculous chocolates Hange had once gifted him as a joke lay tucked away. She had invaded his space, his place, and he didn’t even know if she had some embarrassing middle name.

“You came back earlier today,” she muttered, breaking the silence.

He blinked. Had he? Maybe he had been trying to finish work earlier, hoping to get back before she fell asleep. “Did you forget your keys?” she asked.

Her question made him freeze, his sharp eyes narrowing. She instantly regretted asking.

‘Someone tried to break in’, Levi’s mind leaped to the worst conclusion.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone calm but commanding.

“Nothing. It was a quiet day,” she lied, her eyes darting away like a guilty dog avoiding its owner.

“Don’t lie to me,” Levi said firmly, though without aggression.

“Nothing. The front door’s knob was pushed down and tugged a couple of times, but that was it. The door was locked anyway,” she admitted, her voice hesitant, “I thought maybe you’d forgotten your keys.”

She tried to shrug it off, though her footing felt shaky. “It really was nothing,” she added quickly, her excuses flimsy and arriving too fast to be convincing. “It’s not that deep.”

‘I want to go out… I need to leave this place, or I’ll go nuts,’ she thought, the words she withheld tightening around her like chains. It felt as though she’d just added three more locks to the door with every word she spoke.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” she murmured, her voice softening.

‘Well… maybe a little,’ she admitted silently, guilt prickling at the edges of her thoughts.

Levi sighed heavily, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. His patience was stretched, but his tone was steady.

“Stop it. I’m not angry at you.”

“Well…you look like it,” she muttered, barely audible.

Levi caught her words. “That’s just the face I was born with,” he deadpanned, standing to prepare tea. “If I were actually mad, you’d know.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though she still seemed wary. When he asked, “How much milk?” she snapped out of her thoughts.

“Oh, half and half, please,” she replied.

He carried on, adding two sugar cubes and placing her cup next to her before returning to his seat. One leg over the other.

“Thanks,” she murmured into her tea, both hands clasped around the warm cup.

As the room fell silent again, Levi’s gaze landed on a stray sketch she’d left on his desk—a portrait of a cat. He held it up. “You’re an artist, huh?” “You’re an artist, huh?” he asked suddenly.

“Uh?” She blinked, then realized what he meant. “Oh. I won’t leave them around again. Sorry.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, a trace of exasperation in his tone. “You’re not bad at it.”

A soft smile touched her lips. “Thanks, but I’m just an amateur. A real artist is someone professional. My technique is weak.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re better than anyone I know,” He scanned the sketches scattered across the desk. “Who told you that? Some shitty teacher?”

She hesitated. “My father.”

Levi pressed his lips together. “Sounds like a real ray of sunshine.”

She chuckled at his dry tone. “He just didn’t want me to think I could make a living out of it.”

“Ah, a natural motivator,” Levi deadpanned. “Bet he works in suicide prevention.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. ‘First joke she’s found funny,’ Levi thought.

She leaned forward slightly, a grin on her face. “Do you know my father, sir?”

“Not a clue,” he replied, sipping his tea. “Don’t call me ‘sir,’ by the way. I told you that.”

Her expression turned sheepish. “Sorry… force of habit.” Her smile faltered. Then why…why did you choose me? The question hovered unspoken between them.

Before she could gather the courage to ask, Levi changed the subject, holding up the cat sketch again. “You like this cat?”

Her face brightened instantly. “Yes! That’s my baby, Clauws!”

Levi raised an eyebrow but kept his thoughts to himself. ‘What kind of shitty name is that?’

She explained, “I got him as a Christmas present. He had claws, and Santa Claus brought him to me, so…Clauws.”

“Ah. I see.”

She laughed, catching his expression. “Give me a break—I was ten!”

“Fair enough.”

“Are you a cat person or a dog person?” she asked, clearly trying to keep the light mood alive.

“Neither,” he replied bluntly.

Her smile faded.

“I never owned pets. They shed everywhere. Too messy.”

Her enthusiasm dimmed, but she tried to hide it. “I guess…”

—

“I’m telling you, he’s been taking trays to his chambers!” Sasha’s finger hit the mess hall’s table as she spoke. “He has someone there!”

“How do you know he’s taking an extra tray for someone else and not just for him and Commander Hange to have dinner together?” Connie asked, trying to find logic in her declarations.

“Because there’s been an extra tray for every meal!”

“You count trays?” Jean grimaced in shock. “You’ve got a serious problem with food.”

“Whatever! He has someone there!”

“Ugh, let’s put an end to this,” Armin said, appearing out of nowhere to place his tray on the table. He climbed onto the bench attached to the surface, the rest of the group looking at him in confusion. With a loud, fake sigh, Armin pulled out a small pile of letters and held them up for everyone to see. The group gasped.

“He has a girl named Y/N over. How do I know? Correspondence,” Armin declared.

“Armin, you’re a genius!” Sasha exclaimed, but Jean stared at him in pale horror.

“Have Eren’s suicidal tendencies rubbed off on you?! Captain Levi will beat you senseless if he finds out you’ve touched his letters!”

“Relax. I’m going to put them back before he finds out,” Armin said calmly. “I read in a detective novel that you can open letters with steam and reseal them. Maybe we’ll figure out what she’s doing here.”

Before anyone could respond, another voice broke in. “Who? The omega Captain Levi has in his office?”

As Floch appeared and sat down next to them—uninvited and unwelcome—their lighthearted curiosity turned uneasy.

“How do you know that?” Connie was the first to ask.

“Well, Mr. Wannabe Detective here would’ve known if he were an alpha,” Floch sneered, clearly enjoying his superiority on calling Armin’s beta nature out. Was there a connection between Floch clear unbiased wish that they would have chosen Commander Erwin, a well-known alpha, over Armin? Perhaps.

Armin stayed silent, his self-esteem taking a blow, but Jean, the only alpha in their group, though far from dominant, jumped to the challenge.

“Shut up! Even if she was one, how would you know?” Jean demanded.

“Oh, I know.” Floch smirked. “I was delivering reports to Commander Hange, and her scent hit me under the door.”

Floch had recently come out of a rut, a telltale sign of young alphas developing.

“I have to say, before I realized it, I was trying to open the door. But it was locked,” he added, sounding almost offended. “Such a pity.”

The friendly atmosphere disappeared completely, and everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“That’s creepy as hell, dude,” Sasha said, disgusted.

Floch shrugged. “Everyone knows omegas drive alphas wild. Who the hell brings one here? That’s on them.”

Suddenly, Armin stood, clutching the letters tightly. “Maybe I should put these back,” he muttered. The idea of digging into Levi’s private life no longer felt like innocent gossip—it felt deeply wrong.

—

Levi stared at the two envelopes in his hands, clearly not work-related and not addressed to him. He quickly noticed one bore the name of the letter he’d sent earlier. But something didn’t add up. The last names didn’t match. “Her father, maybe,” he thought as he read, “Dietrich.”

He shrugged it off. “Maybe they’re a tight-knit family,” he guessed. He made a mental note to drop the letters off at his chambers before heading to his meeting. “Maybe it’ll cheer her up.”

But when she saw the letters, she didn’t look cheerful at all. She tried to mask her unease with a forced laugh. “Oh, haha, I just have a headache,” she lied, waving it off.

“Do you want some painkillers?” Levi asked, already thinking about making a quick trip to the infirmary. ‘Maybe it’s an omega thing after a heat?’ He wasn’t well-versed in omega biology, but he wanted to be a considerate partner.

“No, no, thank you! Have a good time at the meeting,” she said quickly, ushering him out.

Alone at last, her hands trembled as she clutched the letters, sinking into the couch. Her heart raced.

‘He wrote to me,’ she thought, her cheeks flushing. But the realization quickly turned sour.

“He wrote to me,” she muttered, dread sinking in.

One part of her wanted to read it, to giggle and cherish the thought that she was still the deepest desire of a man who wouldn’t give up without a fight. But her rational side screamed, “Are you out of your mind? Imagine what he’d do if he found out.”

Duty or love. Desire or safety.

‘Screw it,’ she thought, her hands trembling as she struggled to open the seal without tearing the paper.

A gilded reflect caught her attention from the corner of her yes. Her grandmother’s letter, sitting on the coffee table next to the wedding ring she’d taken off earlier.

The ring was uncomfortable. It didn’t fit her well. But the sight of it next to her grandmother’s letter felt like a moral reminder. Her grandmother had written back so quickly to offer support, her words a lifeline in this overwhelming new life.

The excitement drained away, leaving only shame and pain. “You know what the right decision is,” her conscience scolded.

Before regret could take hold, she tore Dietrich’s letter to pieces and flushed it down the toilet. Tears streamed down her face. “It’s the right decision,” she repeated, thinking of her younger siblings—particularly her two little sisters.

It was late into the night. The field lay eerily still, save for the occasional shadow of soldiers patrolling under curfew. Their footsteps were sparse and distant, a quiet reminder of the night’s vigilance.

She sat on the wide threshold of the office’s main window, her head leaning heavily against the glass. The chill seeped through, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin, and she welcomed it. Her lifeless gaze stretched out into the abyss beyond, where darkness swallowed everything in sight.

The tears hadn’t dried yet. She blinked slowly, afraid they might return if she lingered too long on her thoughts. The air felt thick, oppressive, as if it carried the weight of her despair. The walls seemed to close in with each passing second, shrinking her world into something suffocatingly small.

‘I hate it here,’ she thought bitterly, the words ringing like a quiet scream in her mind.

Levi returned to his quarters, the weight of another gruelling meeting pressing on his shoulders. The moment he stepped inside, he noticed her sitting by the window, her figure barely illuminated by the dim moonlight. Her head rested against the glass; her shoulders slumped. Something about the way she sat—so still, so lost—struck him.

He shut the door quietly, hanging his cloak by the hook before stepping further into the room. “You’ve been sitting there all night?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with a hint of concern.

She didn’t turn to look at him, her voice soft and hollow only hummed. “What is that even supposed to mean?” Levi asked back.

She didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m fine.” The words were brittle, almost a whisper.

He crossed the room, setting something down on the desk before leaning against it. “You don’t look fine.”

She seemed unresponsive, as if life were something that passed her by, not something she was meant to live. Levi’s gaze lingered on her, his breathing slow and deliberate as he wrestled with the unfamiliar territory of trying to be understanding. ‘What is it now? The food? The place?’

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but firm. The sound of her name seemed to pull her out of the fog she was in. “I told you—I’m not a mind reader. If something’s wrong, just tell me, so I can fix it.”

Something shifted in her expression, her dull gaze sparking with an edge of frustration. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her voice breaking slightly. “I’m far away from home, from everyone I know. Stuck here, in this tiny little room.”

‘Oh… so that’s it,’ he thought, nodding softly with an air of exhaustion. “This is temporary,” he replied, his tone even. “I’ll find you a place—somewhere better. Somewhere you don’t have to be here… with me—”

Before he could finish, she raised her hands to her face, muffling a scream before collapsing into sobs. Levi froze, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. That reaction wasn’t what he’d expected.

“What the hell did I say now?” he muttered under his breath, bewildered, watching her unravel before him.

She turned to face him, her eyes red-rimmed but sharp.  “What do you want from me?!”

“I’ve the same damn question,”

“Why are you doing this?”

He frowned, taken aback. “Doing what?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely around the room, her tone sharp and weary all at once. “Why am I here? Is this some sort of punishment? Did you think my family would suffer more by taking me?”

Levi’s brows knit together. “Punish your family? What are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to excuse anything,” she continued, her voice rising as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’m not going to excuse what my father did, alright? He did business with the old Military Police. Sure. But we weren’t some noble family rubbing elbows with the royal court. We’re not that influential.” Her words came faster now, anger and frustration spilling out unchecked.

Levi opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t stop.

“At first, I thought you knew my father somehow, or maybe you hated my kind, and this was some sort of twisted fantasy,” she began, her voice trembling but firm. “Then I wondered if you just wanted an Omega wife to fit neatly into your new position in the government. But now? I don’t know anymore! I don’t understand what you want from me!”

Her hands clenched into tight fists on her lap, her knuckles whitening with the pressure.

“I don’t understand!” she repeated, her tone rising with the weight of her frustration. “You don’t even want me here—you’re trying to send me away, somewhere I won’t be a burden to you. You had plenty of single Omegas lined up for marriage, but instead, you called off my wedding, dragged me all the way here… just to cast me aside. What do you want from me?!”

Her voice broke as the raw emotion spilled over. “Is it fun for you? To ruin my life? To make me miserable? Is that all this is to you—some cruel game?”

She looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor. “And now my grandmother writes to tell me that my cat won’t eat. He’s lying in my old room, waiting for me. He’s going to die because of all this.”

Levi straightened slightly. “Your cat?”

“Yes, my cat!” she snapped, her eyes blazing. She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself, but her tears betrayed her. “I was supposed to marry someone else,” she said bitterly, her words slicing through the air. “I had a life planned out. I was going to live close to the capital with my friends, with my cat, with the man I’d been preparing my whole life to marry. And then you…” Her voice wavered as she fixed him with a glare. “You called off my wedding.”

Levi froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What?” he said, his voice low and rough. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her hand raising as if to physically block his words. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want your excuses or justifications. Just leave me alone, okay?”

He stood there, his hands at his sides, watching her crumble in front of him. Her words hit him harder than he cared to admit. He hadn’t known she was engaged—or that her life had been so carefully planned before all this. He hadn’t realized how much she’d lost in the process of being pushed into his world.

But she wasn’t letting him speak.

“I just want to go home,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please… just leave me alone.”

Levi clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. He wanted to say something—anything—

—

“You GAVE me a girl who was engaged to someone else?!” Levi’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“You didn’t claim the damn Omega?!” Zackly shot back, his tone equally sharp.

The two cadets stationed at the far wall exchanged nervous glances, their bodies stiff and pressed flat against the plaster as if trying to disappear. They dared not breathe too loudly, their eyes darting from one side of the office to the other as the shouting escalated.

“Who the hell cares about that?!” Levi snapped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “The girl’s a blink away from throwing herself off a balcony! And the only reason she hasn’t is because I live on the first floor. She’s smart enough to know she’d survive the fall and just end up crippled!”

“You come into my office to shout at me,” Zackly growled, slamming his fist on the desk, “demanding a house, calling me a liar—and you haven’t even claimed the girl?!” His voice rose with incredulity. “You wanted her. No second thoughts. We gave her to you! What the hell did you expect us to do?”

“I don’t know,” Levi retorted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Maybe you could’ve told me she was already promised to someone else!”

“You got what you asked for,” Zackly shot back with a scoff, leaning back in his chair. “You had one damn job, and you couldn’t even do that. So go back, claim the girl, and then we can talk about anything else.”

Levi stood frozen, disbelief washing over him. His steel-gray eyes locked on Zackly as if trying to process how a man could be so absurdly indifferent. “Maybe you’re the type to enjoy abusing girls half your age, but that’s not me. She doesn’t just hate me—she despises me.”

Zackly let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, your wife hates you? Boo-hoo, Captain. Welcome to marriage.” His sarcasm made one of the cadets stifle a chuckle, which they instantly regretted when Levi’s sharp gaze flicked toward them.

“We’ve got a coastal expansion to deal with, a train system to build, and a Marley invasion to prepare for,” Zackly continued, waving dismissively. “Neither of us has time to waste on this nonsense.”

Levi’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He’d never seen eye to eye with Zackly, and now, his patience was at its breaking point. “I need a damn house,” he ground out. “I can’t keep her at headquarters.”

The tension in the room was broken by one of the cadets, who sneered, “A house? Alone, for an unclaimed Omega? We’re not funding a brothel. Half the Alphas inside the Walls would be lining up outside her door.”

Levi’s world went red. His hand shot out, grabbing the cadet by the collar and dragging him close, his voice a low growl. “You say something like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re the one they’re lining up for.” He yanked the cadet lower, forcing him to meet his piercing glare.

The cadet’s bravado shattered instantly. “I’m sorry, sir—I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Levi hissed, his tone deadly calm. “You like to act cocky, but the moment you’re in my hands, you’re shaking like a little bitch.” He held him there a moment longer before shoving him back against the wall. “Don’t test me again.”

The cadet nodded furiously. “It won’t happen again, Captain. I’m sorry.”

“Tch.” Levi turned away, muttering under his breath. “This couldn’t get worse.”

—

“So… no house hunting today?” Hange quipped as they exited the main building, each fresh from their respective meetings. Their steps initially fell in sync, heading toward the waiting cart, but Levi abruptly veered off down the street.

“Were you going?” he shot back, his tone flat yet tinged with subtle sarcasm.

Hange stopped, blinking at his retreating figure before jogging slightly to catch up. their eyes dropped to the letter he held, his gaze fixed on the address written there.

“I’ve got something to pick up,” Levi said curtly, not breaking stride.

—

“Hey. Come on, wake up.”

Levi’s voice was quiet but insistent as he gently rocked her shoulder. She was sprawled on the bed, deeply asleep, the pitch-black room silent except for his voice. He’d been gone the entire day, leaving at five in the morning, and now it was three a.m. the following day. Despite his best efforts, she hadn’t even stirred when he came back.

“Wake up,” he urged again, shaking her lightly. “I’ve got something for you.”

A muffled groan escaped her lips as she shifted uneasily, her face scrunching in sleepy confusion. “What?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, now come on.” He tugged lightly at her arm, his grip firm but not rough. “Get up.”

Grumbling incoherently, she sat up, her movements sluggish as she tried to process being forced awake. Levi didn’t wait for her to fully come to her senses. He turned on the light in the adjoining office, casting a blinding glow that made her squint and groan louder.

“What’s this?” she muttered, shielding her face and rubbing her eyes.

Levi didn’t answer at first. Instead, he walked to the center of the room, a box resting on the floor. “You’ll have to be responsible,” he said plainly, crouching to open it. “I don’t have the time to take care of it or clean up after it. That’s my condition.”

Her grogginess evaporated the second she processed his words. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught as she saw him lift the box’s lid.

“Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. Dropping to her knees, she reached out as her cat—frail, disheveled, and scared—darted toward her arms.

The small animal let out a hoarse, frantic meow, burying its head into her neck as she hugged it tightly, crying openly.

“It’s okay,” she sobbed, rocking the trembling creature as if to soothe both of them at once. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Levi stood in silence, watching the scene unfold. His lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the cat clinging to her like it was afraid to let go, its pitiful meows muffled against her shoulder. The animal looked half-dead—though perhaps it had been revived by her sheer will the moment it reunited with her.

Before he could say a word, she rose to her feet, still clutching the cat, and threw her free arm around him in a fierce hug. The startled animal was caught between them, meowing in protest, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Thank you,” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you so much!”

“You’ve got to be responsible—” Levi started, but his words cut off as she planted a quick, impulsive kiss on his cheek.

He froze, his usual stoic composure crumbling for a split second as his brain scrambled to process the gesture. He didn’t know whether to step back, reciprocate, or say something, so he settled on standing still, his arms awkwardly hovering at his sides.

‘Well,’ he thought dryly, watching her coo at the cat with unrestrained joy, ‘this’ll make it ten times easier to tell her she’s stuck here until further notice.’

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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[cosycafune]

JEALOUSY; EREN JAEGER:

a summary of this chapter: your boyfriend is mad at you for dismissing him the whole night, chatting away to your puny friend. naturally, he wants to have his way with you — just so your full focus is on him.

a synopsis of acts: smut, rough sex, corruption kink, sadistic tendencies, cumming, creampies, sizing, crying, brat taming and potentially more.

“Eren, please!” You so desperately spewed, your drool inevitably on display whilst Eren’s ample cock laid upon the bottom of your curling stomach.

“Please, what?” Eren bluntly questions you, the largeness of his delicious cock swiftly moving towards the soppiness of your folds.

Eren has sufficiently ruined the entirety of your resolve, mindlessly committing sexual acts that he know would have you eating out the palm of his broad hand. His hand. Not no random man your gaze steers upon, to elicit jealousy within the neglected aspects of him.

Inevitably, Eren knew you were his to indulge in — to stuff the vastness of his cock within and consistently breed you until you’re marked and tinted with a beautiful ivory.

“P-Put it in!” Whimpering, tearing and extremely dazed, you chew your bottom lip with the uttermost shame. Shame as the liveliness in Eren’s viridian, emotion-packed eyes completely admire yet scrutinise the desperation within your choked pleas.

“Why? You spent all day pretending to ignore me, just to talk to that aloof man,” At Eren’s harsh statement, his thick brows furrow before he skims the girth of his cock between your nimble thighs — unable to fathom the concept of not overwhelming and dominating you.

“B-Because I’m yours,” Gulping at your bestowed announcement, your eyes widen as Eren swiftly burrows himself within your cunt — leaving your eyes to widen erratically.

“Say it again,” Loathing the lack of repetition you gift, Eren greedily presses his hips upon your pelvic structure. Cock stricken, your purpose completely flees your lips at the impenetrable closeness of his blessed hips.

“‘M yours! All yours! Ah!” Your melodically generated moans command Eren into beginning to harshly pound within you, yearning to completely break away at the bratty exterior and interior you had settled upon him.

“Then, don’t do that shit again,” Eren grunts out, his eyes lovingly cloudy while he bucks his hips loudly within you — slamming into you at an inhumane pacing.

“F-Fuck! I won’t!” A barely comprehensible mess, you feel the beautiful within Eren’s pace — entwined with unwritten emotions.

Eren’s usually so whiny, so seeing him dominant, complex and riddled with anger heightened your emotions but also played upon your building guilt.

“Say it again!” Eren’s eyes boil and soothe at the concept of you lovingly taking his thick cock, completely overwhelmed and worshipping the heavenly feeling of it all.

“I love you…and I’m yours,” Softening slightly, Eren continues to abuse his reckless pace — his lips instinctively kissing your unchallenged lips.

“I-I love you, too,” Wavering momentarily, Eren lips delicately smother your own — all before he safely buries his head within the crook of your neck.

“Ah!” You harshly moan out, feeling yourself subconsciously cum upon the entirety of his inhumanely-thrusting cock.

“G-Got to be quick, I’ve got a concert soon,” Despite Eren’s suggestion, you innately wrap your toned legs around his sculpted waist — knowing that he’s bound to cum.

“I’d…get you pregnant, just so you’d be all…mine,” Eren chokes out, his delicate breaths laboured before he constructs himself into filling your flowery womb with the soul of his thick, white seed.

“Y-Yes!” Panting with false agreement, you glance into Eren’s strained eyes — drawing him into your homely arms.

“S-Shit,” Carried away, Eren comfortably pulls out of you — glimpsing at you with subtly glassy eyes.

“I’m sorry for making you jealous, Eren,” Apologising so sincerely, you press kisses upon his lips — uncaring for the arrays of cum that spew from your pulsating, abused cunt.

“Just don’t do it again,” Eren groans out, “I love you, though.” Muttering, curling into your hair stroking, Eren relishes all the love that you have embedded within him

“I won’t,” Kissing the crown of his forehead, you apply a kiss upon the top of Eren’s crumpled mind.

—

do not copy my work; all rights reserved. cosycafune, 2024.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinkmas (11)- The Grinch Who Stole Her Heart

Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary: When a certain witch discovers your hate for Christmas, she can't help but try her best into convincing you to love the festive season.

Word Count: 10.8k 

Warnings/Tags: Friends to Lovers, Slow burn, Fluff, Domestic Avengers, Christmas Fluff, Flirting, Crushes, Mutual Pining, Christmas Decorating, Gingerbread houses, Ice Skating, Snowball Fights, Soft Smut, First time, Inexperienced Wanda/Experienced Reader, Fingering, Praise, Confessions, Aftercare 

Kinkmas Masterlist

---

Gentle chatter and a tranquil, festive atmosphere wrapped around the common room of the compound like a warm, cosy blanket, most of the team bunched up on various sofas with snacks ready in hand, waiting for Wanda to finally press the play button to start Home Alone on the big screen.

The witch, however, was not ready to start the movie, her eyes flickering over the content and excited faces of the team, searching for one individual in particular.

You.

Where were you?

"Where's Y/n?" Wanda asked, puzzled, the soft murmur in the room going quiet, curious and confused gazes meeting one another at the brunette's question, apprehensive to tell the truth.

Natasha carefully placed down the bowl of popcorn that was in her lap, inadvertently stopping Clint from stealing more of the treat which made him grumble a little, the redhead looking between the rest of the team, not wanting to dampen the young woman's mood.

It had become abundantly clear over the last few days and since the start of December that Wanda was in love with the idea of Christmas and all the festive traditions, the team having tried their best to keep you away from her, despite the witch subconsciously seeking you out, her mind unable to explain why her heart would flutter in your presence, her mood always being lifted by you.

"Y/n isn't a 'fan' of Christmas," Natasha cautiously phrases her words, not wanting to ruin the mood that was so gratefully appreciated in the room, the uplifted mood of Christmas enabling the mighty Avengers to have some time to relax and spend together as a family.

"What?" Wanda's tone signalling her confusion at how someone could possibly not like Christmas, her head tilting in her usual manner, Pietro speeding from the sofa to stand with his sister, seemingly just as baffled.

"How can she not be a fan of Christmas?" Pietro adds, just as obsessed with the festive season as his sister, his love for it being driven by the sheer amount of food and presents though.

"She just..." Natasha trails off, thinking how to explain your lack of jolliness, her eyes flickering to Clint for a little help. The archer simply shrugs, her leg kicking back at his shin for his lack of usefulness, a small yelp escaping him as he grabs the popcorn bowl, deciding that the food would be a sufficient apology from her.

"She hates it," Tony bluntly puts it, everyone's head turning from the sofas to the billionaire in the kitchen, fixing himself a ridiculously large hot chocolate in the beautifully decorated kitchen, annoyance written across Steve and Natasha's face as they wanted to keep it a peaceful evening.

"She doesn't 'hate' it," Steve tries to reason, his blue eyes flickering towards Sam and Bucky who are disinterested in what's going on, most likely bickering between themselves over who gets more room on the sofa.

"Oh come on Capsicle," Tony teases, Steve's cheeks darkening at the nickname the man uses for him, mumbling under his breath an 'oh god' at the billionaire's mischievous tone. "She hates it. End of. We've all tried to get her to like it but she just refuses to enjoy the Christmas spirit," he says whilst placing his steaming mug down, flopping onto his section of the sofa and asking Friday to lower the lights, wanting to watch the film now. "Now, are we going to watch the film or not?" He asks, clearly not bothered by your absence.

"Not all of us have tried," Wanda says after a moment, tossing the remote to Natasha, hoping she'd somehow keep the boys in check, knowing the chaos the entire team could cause without her magic there to stop objects flying across the room. "Start the film without me," Wanda calls out, walking out of the room, determined to find your room and figure out a way to persuade you into falling in love with the magical season.

Despite not figuring out a plan, the brunette knocks on your door with purpose, waiting outside for you to open up, various thoughts flooding through her mind as she impatiently plays with the rings on her fingers.

Eventually, you open your bedroom door, your brow raising at her current outfit, a smug smirk creeping onto your lips. The Christmas themed pyjamas amused you as you let your eyes wander down the various festive items decorating the fabric, the red and green chequered pants slightly too long for her as they pooled around her ankles, the fluffy socks further entertaining you as you stood in a simple, thin shirt and joggers, a stark contrast to her holiday themed get up.

"What-"

"Why do you hate Christmas?" she asks, enticing green eyes gazing into yours curiously, your eyes widening at her forward question, a soft chuckle escaping you, Wanda unable to stop the swarm of butterflies in her stomach at the sound.

"Why do you love Christmas?" You counter, leaning against the door frame as you see various emotions flicker across her face, your features softening at her adorably annoyed state.

"Why do I love Christmas?" She repeats almost shocked, still baffled at the whole ordeal, "It's just magical," her tone laced with the love she has for the time of year. "It's a time to spend with family, to give gifts, to have fun with silly traditions," she lists, watching closely to your reactions as your soft expression remains uninterested.

"Just seems like a lot of effort to me," you casually say, her brows furrowing at your words, mouth parting and closing, unsure of what to say. "Is that all you wanted to ask? I'm currently in the middle of a mission report," your tone is annoyingly soft and calm, determination brewing in Wanda to show you how amazing Christmas was but still unsure how.

"No, I..." she trails off for a moment, tilting her head marginally to the side as she thinks hard about how to convince you. "Do you really hate it?" She asks, tone trying her best to hide the disappointment that filled her, your smile softening, body pushing yourself off the frame of the door to look at her properly, still amused at her clothing.

"It's just not for me, Wanda," your tone apologetic as you gathered how much she loved the season, your heart clenching a little at the despondent look that took over her face, wishing you could ensure a smile was always on her lips, only ever wanting her to be happy.

"Ok," she whispers, slowly nodding at your words and turning around to retreat to where the rest of the team was, a sudden idea entering her mind as she hears you shutting the door. "Give me one week," her tone desperate and rushed as your hand halted, opening the door with a confused look, laughing softly as she quickly walked back over to the door, fluffy socks sliding a little on the smooth floor.

"What?" your tone matches the curiosity engraved on your face, smile widening at the glint of hope in her eyes.

"Give me one week to show you how magical Christmas is," she explains further, her enchanting green eyes almost putting you under a spell, part of you contemplating giving into her despite your dislike for everything about December 25th. Your face shows your conflicted state, Wanda taking your delayed response as a win, her nose scrunching up in a way that has your heart beating wildly in your chest, an inexplicable onrush of affection flowing through you. "Please?" she adds, excitement creeping into he tone as you sigh out heavily, unable to resist the soft spot you had for her, a smile gracing your features.

"One week," you begrudgingly say, a smile still present on your face though as her lips stretch into a wide grin, joy filling her as various ideas flood through her mind, ready to warm you up to the season.

***

"I'm not so sure you're trying to convince me," you mutter, lifting the heavy box of decorations and trudging your way towards her room, "I feel like you're just using me for slave labour," you grumble, peaking over the box to watch your step, bumping into the corner of the door frame before dropping the box onto the floor, a rattle of baubles filling the room.

"If you stopped complaining and acting like the grinch this would be a whole lot easier," she teases, crouching down and opening the box, looking up at you with a small smirk that has you rolling your eyes, happiness taking over your chest as you follow her command.

"The grinch is an icon," you mumble, flickering your gaze away from the aesthetic decorations in the box and into her alluring green, finding them far more interesting than the shiny plastic objects.

"Yeah? And why is that?" Her tone is playful and cheerful, eliciting an involuntary smile from you as you struggle to maintain your composure near her, the crush you thought you had gotten over seeming to resurface, her brow raising expectantly as she waits for you to continue.

"He lives in a mountain with his dog, away from people, sounds like heaven to me," your tone slightly sarcastic, earning a soft laughter from her, her eyes sparkling with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. Her gaze drifts away from you as her own heart starts to beat wildly in her chest at being able to spend time with you, her lips pulling up into a shy smile. "And he's green," you add, a humorous grin taking over your face, cracking her composure.

A giggle leaves her lips at your tone, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she tries to stifle her laugh, her eyes meeting yours with an amused glimmer in them, your smile widening as warmth floods through you in a tender manner.

"What's so special about the colour green?" She manages to ask when she stops laughing, entertained by your words, reluctantly turning her back away from you as she moves towards the tree in her room with a bundle of lights, beckoning you over as she untangles them, wanting your help to decorate her room as she hadn't had time to do it yet.

It's the colour of your eyes is what you initially think of saying, a small blush appearing on your cheeks as you rethink an answer, grateful she wasn't looking at you as you thought it, her head soon looking back over her shoulder as you don't answer.

"I don't know," you unconvincingly respond, shoulders shrugging, "It's just a cool colour." Wanda chuckles, clearly not believing your vague answer as she looks at your form over her shoulder, playfully shaking her head before continuing to wrap the lights around the pine tree while you gradually make your way over to her, your attention flickering over to her desk.

"Oh my god," you laugh out, admiring the framed photograph of Wanda and Pietro dressed up for Halloween in Sokovia, chuckling at their ridiculous outfits. "Pietro looks like Fury with that eye patch," you snicker out, Wanda rushing over to you and sliding the photo out of your hands, embarrassed by her toothy grin in it, a smile still on her face as she hears your genuine laugh, her gaze moving to the photo of her and her brother that she always loved.

"He wanted to be his own version of a pirate," she explains with a nostalgic tone, placing down the photo while you just admire her features, getting lost in thought again, the feelings you tried to bury trying their best to take over you as you simply smile at her softly, a tender expression taking over her face at your enamoured gaze.

"I bet he was just as annoying as a child as he is now," you tease, making her laugh again, your heart melting at being able to hear the sound again, the brunette placing an ornament in your hand to stop you procrastinating, sensing your attempt at stalling her plans.

"Even more," she jokes, her fingers brushing over yours softly, the touch engraved in your memory as they pull away from you, Wanda snapping you out of your thoughts as she continues. "Now come on, we have a tree to decorate," her tone adding excitement to it as you let out a displeased grumble, still smiling at her though.

Maybe, just maybe, the next week wasn't going to be as bad as you thought.

***

"I hope you know I'm only here because you promised me food," you mumble whilst your hand supports your head as you sit at the kitchen island, eyes wandering around the various decorations littered around the room then towards the woman in front of you, observing how she rolls out the gingerbread.

A soft, genuine smile takes over her face in amusement, her gaze lifting to meet your form watching her attentively, chuckling softly as she continues to measure out the dimensions for the house she intended on making, a playful and teasing expression taking over her angelic features.

"Is that so?" she asks, slicing through the dough she's rolled to create the walls of the house, your eyes trained on the deft way her fingers move, gaze lifting to watch her concentrate, in awe of her working. You knew Wanda loved to cook and bake, but to watch her properly, almost intimately, made you truly appreciate her love for the hobby.

"Yep," you say while popping the 'p', smiling at the way she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, a streak of powdered sugar visible against her skin, your teeth biting down on your lip to stop yourself from laughing at her cute state.

"Well if someone wants to eat they have to help," her tone reprimanding you for not helping her at all so far.

"I've helped," you say, pretending to take offence as she uses her magic to softly push you off the stool at the kitchen island, a small groan leaving you as you eventually wander around the kitchen to stand next to her. "Does moral support not mean anything anymore?" you mutter as she hands you a spoon, your fake mood crumbling away at the way she peers up at you with a raised brow, the streak of sugar making you smile.

"What?" she laughs out when you end up staring at her forehead too long, a nervous expression on her face as you grab a cloth from the countertop and delicately wipe away the mess on her skin, her cheeks a similar colour to her magic as she tries to control her emotions, a shy smile taking over her features as you meet her gaze with an affectionate look.

"There's my contribution," you joke, tossing the cloth back onto the countertop as Wanda sees the small smear of powdered sugar on the fabric, the wave of embarrassment never coming as you continue to smile at her, her head shaking at your antics.

"You're not getting out of it that easy," she chuckles out, setting up the bowl for you to make the icing in, handing you everything you'd need before checking on the gingerbread that was in the oven, making sure everything was going to plan.

After you've made the icing and the dough is baked to perfection as well as having cooled down, Wanda starts to put together the house with your help, deciding to ask Friday to help encourage the festive spirit by getting them to play the witch's Christmas playlist, an amused glint present in your eyes as you picture her listening to the music on her own, most likely dancing to each tune.

Your fingers carefully hold the wall of gingerbread, Wanda delicately piping the icing along the edges to help stabilise the structure, the smell of the freshly made treat making your mouth yearn to taste the delicious flavours, the other woman humming the tune to the song that was playing as you assembled the house together. Quicker than you expected, you had the house made and just in need of decorating, your gaze now on Wanda who softly sang the lyrics to 'Last Christmas', a mischievous smile taking over your face.

As if sensing your gaze on her, she met your admiring stare, her smile stretching that little bit wider as she lifts the spoon from the icing bowl, using it as a microphone as she keeps her enchanting eyes on you.

"Tell me, baby, do you recognise me?" she sings, her voice angelic as you can't help but watch in awe as she subtly dances near you, walking behind your body and enticing you to follow her. "Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me," her gentle voice sounding around the room, blessing your ears as she sings the iconic song, "'Happy Christmas', I wrapped it up and sent it, with a note saying 'I love you' I meant it, now I know what a fool I've been." Her words further lure you into being amazed by her, your body turning once again to follow her movements, her body next to yours as she places the bowls she's just collected on the countertop, her eyes lifting up to meet your enamoured gaze, "But if you kissed me now, I know you'd fool me again." Your breath hitches at the way her eyes subconsciously drift to your lips before flickering back up, the soft, loving glint evident in her eyes as the gaze lingers, her only breaking the gaze when the desire to kiss you becomes too strong.

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart but the very next day-"

"You sold it on ebay," you interrupt, a teasing smile on your lips as you steal the piping bag from her, a laugh spilling from her lips at your immature behaviour. "This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to Marks and Spencers," her hand lightly slaps your arm as you 'ruined' the chorus for her, her smile almost reaching her ears though at the pure joy you managed to fill her with, your arms raising in surrender as you see wisps of magic flicker at her fingers, knowing how she could torture you with ticklish sensations like she did a couple days ago when decorating the tree. "Ok, ok," you laugh out in surrender as the red tendrils brush over your skin, "Tesco extra instead of Marks and Spencers?"

She simply smacks you lightly once again on the shoulder, her hand lingering against your body before pulling back, rolling her eyes at your amused and smug smile, cheekily squeezing a little of the icing onto your finger to taste it.

"Mhmm delicious," you softly moan at the sweet treat, exaggerating your love for the simple food you made, Wanda stealing the bag back from you and pointing it at you like it was a weapon.

"Stop eating all the decorations," she mutters, using her magic to push away the bowl full of sprinkles, laughing softly at the way your hand misses and hits the table, a small pout forming on your lips.

"Fine," you grumble as she hands you the piping bag back, letting you have full reign on decorating the gingerbread house, something she'd inevitably regret.

***

A couple hours later you're sprawled out against the sofa, a bowl of the broken gingerbread house in your lap as you tilt your head to look at Wanda, once again admiring her features while she was fully immersed in whatever was playing on the tv.

Your eyes focus on each delicate feature of her face, trailing over the slight dust of pink on her cheeks, a few strands of brunette locks framing her face perfectly and the gentle slope of her nose before spending a little more time admiring her plump lips and eventually settling on her mesmerising eyes. Your heart clenched a little at her beauty, your gaze eventually being torn away from her as you knew you shouldn't think of her as more of a friend, to get lost in fantasy of what it would feel like to be with her all over again as you remember the pain of pushing it all down.

The soft giggle that left her lips immediately knocked you out of your thoughts, the smile that seemed ever present near her emerging once again as you raised your brow at her when you met her gaze, her nose scrunching in that captivating manner as red wisps form at the tips of her fingers once again.

"I thought we were going to share the gingerbread," She teases lightly, using her magic to steal a piece from you, your hand wrapping protectively around your bowl of treats.

"Woah, this is mine Maximoff," you defensively say, using her surname playfully, addicted to the taste of the icing you used to cover most of the crisp gingerbread, the aim of your decorations to give you a sugar overload. "I decorated it," you mumble, squinting your eyes at her when she floats over a larger piece from the bowl in faux annoyance, your hands placing the bowl down as there way no way you'd be able to stop her magic, your eyes watching with interest how the red tendrils delicately flow through the air.

"And I made it," she counters, biting into the corner of the roof, a pleased noise escaping her at the taste of it, the festive spirit further consuming her as the taste brings back many memories of past Christmases, a nostalgic look taking over her face momentarily.

"I thought you were trying to convince me to like Christmas," you joke as you lean back against the sofa, eyes trained on her as she raises her brow at your relaxed manner, continuing to eat her piece of gingerbread.

"I am, is it working?" She asks, smiling at you hopefully, her enthralling green solely focused on you making it hard to think straight and come up with your usual sarcastic remark. You pause for a moment, Wanda's head tilting in curiosity as you remain silent, a small blush forming on your cheeks as you gather yourself together.

"It would be if I got to eat all the gingerbread," you tease eventually, switching your gaze to something other than her alluring beauty, eyes landing on the various sweets stuck on the white icing.

"Is it actually working though?" She asks again, voice holding a more serious and intrigued tone compared to her joking tone, her green containing a hint of nerves as she really hoped it was.

Your mouth opens and closes to respond, unsure of what to say. If you were being honest, you didn't love the festive season any more, you simply enjoyed the last three days because you were with her.

"It hasn't changed my opinion on Christmas," you say softly, her face dropping a little making you continue, "But, I have had so much fun over the last few days, I... I've really enjoyed spending time with you," you fix her mood instantly, a blush taking over her face this time, her gaze flickering away from you, teeth biting down softly on her lower lip to try and contain her smile.

"Yeah?" she murmurs out a little timidly, gathering the courage to meet your softening gaze once more, the two of you smiling at each other, unaware of the swirling emotions in both of you. "Well still I've got four more days to fix that," she says, tone determined and adamant that she would persuade you, your smile growing that little bit wider at her confidence, part of you hoping she was right just to see that smile on her face.

***

"I'm not so sure about this Wanda," your voice a little shaky as your fingers grip the edge of the wall as tightly as possible, the ice skates you were wearing sliding on the ice in a manner than unnerved you, your eyes lifting to find Wanda only to see her skating off skilfully, turning back to you with a teasing look.

"Come on, I promise it's fun," she calls back, swarms of people brushing past you, further adding to your nerves as you hated how unstable you felt, her green eyes meeting yours through the crowd, sensing how uncomfortable you felt.

You watched a little embarrassed as she effortlessly skated over to you, the sound of screaming children nearby and the scratching of ice being blocked out as she comes closer to you, a different kind of anxiety flowing through you at her little smirk.

"Is the infamous Y/n, world hero and Avenger, scared of ice skating?" she teases softly, your eyes rolling at her comment. Just because you were an Avenger didn't mean you enjoyed activities like this.

"No..." you trailed off, your foot slipping slightly, Wanda watching how your body immediately tensed, knuckles bleeding white at your grip on the edge of the wall, her hand moving to your lower back to keep you stable, wanting to make sure you were alright. "Maybe just a little," you confess quietly, hoping she wouldn't find it a problem, her smile turning a little sympathetic. "It's scary ok? Steve got stuck in ice for like seventy plus years in it so it must be very dangerous," you explain, a genuine laugh slipping past her lips at your reasoning.

"It was only sixty six years," she corrects, your head shaking a little at her words, your mind processing where her hand was, a wave of butterflies taking over your body as your fingers adjust their grip on the cold edge.

"Do you trust me?" Her voice a gentle whisper, your mind focussing on her, only her as she looks at you as if you were the only thing going on in the ice rink, your head nodding as you couldn't muster any words to leave your mouth, far too nervous to not embarrass yourself any further.

Her hands gently clasp yours, her fingers intimately interlocking with yours, her soft gaze meeting your hesitant one, her feet guiding her backwards as she slides across the ice, pulling you carefully with her.

"Bend your knees a little," she instructs, trying to guide you into the best position so you wouldn't fall. You try to listen to her but the feeling of her impossibly soft hands in yours makes all common sense leave your mind, your body just about listening to her instructions. "Don't lean too far forwards if you don't want to fall," she playfully whispers, keeping you close to her as she can tell it's keeping you calm, her intoxicating perfume reaching your senses and further drowning you in the thought of her. "That's it," she praises softly, a small smile reaching your lips as you skate slightly on your own, still tightly gripping onto her, not that she minded.

The two of you did a few laps around the ring, your grip on her gradually decreasing as your confidence grew, the two of you stopping by a wall to relax for a moment, your cheeks and noses tinted pink from the cold room, smiles engraved on both of your faces.

Your smile widens when you see a child fall over, a snicker leaving your lips as you can't help it, Wanda playfully pushing you at your reaction, reprimanding your behaviour as the mother briefly looks over towards you two in annoyance, her child's face pulling into distress. Panic flashes across your face as you slip a little, your arm shooting out to wrap around hers, pulling yourself into her body, flush against her, making both of your blushes darken a little, her arm wrapping around you to keep you upright.

"Don't," you mumble when you feel her laugh against you, your body melting against hers as she keeps you stable and secure, her body also helping you keep warm.

"Don't what? Tease you?" She chuckles out, your head turning to meet her amused and mischievous gaze, breath hitching a little as you underestimated the space between you, your lips mere inches away from hers, both of your gazes drifting down to one another's mouths.

The heat that washes over you when her slightly darkened green meet yours causes you to straighten your back, pulling yourself further away from her face, your hand hesitantly reaching further down her arm to her fingers, interlocking them once again to try and keep your thoughts on anything but the longing to feel her lips on yours, a brief moment of courage washing through you when she doesn't pull back.

"I won't tease you," she whispers out once she's gotten control over her pounding heart, her cheeks still tinted pink as she smiles at your hand holding hers, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, grateful for you being braver than her and initiating something. "But that doesn't mean I won't tell Nat," a soft laugh leaves you as you meet her eyes once more, sensing the mirth in them as she imagined the various ways the Russian would torment you.

"I'm never going to hear the end of it," you mumble, her nose scrunching at your tone, the action making you think it was worth any amount of teasing comments that Natasha could throw at you, the warmth that wrapped around your heart at her expression worth anything in the world as she drags you away from the wall again, skating with you, hand in hand.

***

A relentless pounding at your door has you reluctantly rolling out of bed, in dire need of a nap after the new workout Natasha wanted to try with you, your body ready to sink into your soft mattress and relax for just a little bit.

"You better have some more gingerbread," you mutter as you hear Wanda call your name through the door, your hand turning your door handle and opening, revealing the woman who consumed all your thoughts. "What-" A thick winter coat was thrown at you, your body not expecting the item making you take a step back, your eyes widening at Wanda in confusion as you properly took a hold of the clothing item, the coat a contrast to your oversized shirt and joggers.

"Do you wanna build a snowman?" she sings in a teasing voice, a groan leaving your lips at the movie reference, a tired sigh leaving your lips.

"I just wanna sleep," you whine out as she simply walks into your room as you turn away, smiling at the way you still comply to her question, searching through your wardrobe for a thick jumper and pants, not wanting to freeze in the cold as snowflakes gracefully spilled from the sky, the grass surrounding the compound drowning in the white blanket of snow.

"You can sleep later," her tone amused at the way you shake your head at her, amazed at the way she has you wrapped around her finger as you shrug on the coat she tossed you, turning your head and sending a pointed look.

"This better be worth it," you mumble, her body coming closer to yours and fixing your hood as it was sticking out weird, her cold fingers brushing the back of your neck causing you to wake up a little more.

"Spending time with me is always worth it," she whispers, recalling how you confessed to her how you enjoyed being with her, a smile creeping onto your lips as you chuckle at her words, her eyes peering up into yours as you let her fix your outfit, unable to stop the warmth bubbling inside you.

"That is true," you murmur ever so softly, her smile widening as she lets her hands drift to your shoulders to smooth the coat out, growing in confidence near you after being together for the last four days constantly. "But sleep is pretty amazing too," you mumble, earning her signature nose scrunch, your heart beating that little bit faster at the enamoured look in her eyes.

"Come on," she sighs out, walking behind you and pushing you towards the door, struggling a little as you use your strength to keep you planted.

"Save me bed! She's trying to kidnap me," you call out dramatically, chuckling as she uses her magic to push you out of the door, you calling out of your bed once more, earning another string of laughter from her as she leads you out of the compound, walking side by side with you, letting your bodies brush.

A chill takes over your body as you trudge your way through the snow that's piling up, the sound of satisfying crunches and nearby birds filling the air as you let Wanda lead you to the best place to build her desired snowman. You watch with an affectionate gaze at her thick gloves and the scarf that's wrapped so tightly around her neck, the bobble hat that she stole from you moving with each step she takes, her head looking her shoulder at you, her smile almost reaching her ears.

You follow her until she stops, deciding this was the best location to build it, her eyes looking back at the compound and ensuring you'd be able to see it from the large window in the common room, unaware of the redhead and archer sitting peacefully together, curious as to what you two were doing, a glint of realisation flickering across Natasha's face.

Unable to stop yourself, you give into the temptation of crouching down in the snow, grabbing a handful of it and moulding it into the shape of a large snowball, trying to perfect the shape to make it easier to throw.

"Hey Wanda?" You call out innocently, lining up your shot as you wait for her to turn around, her eyes glimmering with joy before widening, unable to move out of the way as the snow crashes against her body, exploding into various fragments of white dust, a gasp leaving her lips.

You can't help but laugh wholeheartedly at her reaction, an uncontrollable laughter escaping you as happiness consumes you entirely, shock present on her face to begin with before revenge takes over, taking advantage of your distracted state and grabbing a handful of snow, ready to throw it back at you.

Your laughter is interrupted when she headshots you with the snowball, disbelief evident on your face as her smile grows smug, a dangerous chuckle leaving you making her smile slowly fade, mischief evident on your face. At your expression, Wanda starts to run, laughter spilling from her lips as she gets a head start, your legs swiftly moving to catch up with her.

"Oh no you don't," you call out, your smile engraved on your face as you chase after, using your abilities to help you catch up to her. You can't stop the genuine laughter that escapes you as you dodge the snowballs her magic throws at you blindly, your body gradually catching up to her, inching closer as the two of you trample through the snow like idiots, not caring about anything else in the world but one another. Eventually, your arm wraps around her middle, pulling her closer to your body as you grab a load of snow with your other hand, intending on dropping it on her head, your plan not working as you both go tumbling in the snow, laughter still sounding around the two of you. "Gotcha," you chuckle out as you land on top of her, her hands holding onto your shoulders as your body is flush against hers, your hand cupping the back of her head protectively and the other bracing your body above hers.

Her breath gently fans across your face as you both pant a little from the sudden running, your eyes getting lost in hers as she smiles up at you angelically, your gaze eventually drifting across her features, still stunned by her beauty. Your gaze settles on her lips, watching how she subtly wets her lower lip before her teeth gently bite down on it, your eyes flickering up to her softening green, building up to ask her the question you've wanted to for ages.

"Can.... Can I kiss you?" your voice a barely audible whisper, the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage deafening in your ears as you await a response, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering vigorously.

"Took you long enough to ask," she murmurs playfully, having heard your thoughts about her eyes all those days ago, piecing together that you may have felt the same way about her as she did towards you.

Her fingers fisted against the hem of your coat and pulled you down into her body, claiming your lips in the way you both longed for. You kissed her tenderly, her lips pressing over yours just as affectionately, the cold tip of her nose brushing against yours as you got lost in the moment together. Your eyes fluttered shut to savour the feeling of her mouth, how gentle and soft it was as you weren't guaranteed another chance, another kiss, so you forced your racing thoughts to stop for a moment as your lips moved against hers lovingly, wanting to engrave the feeling into your mind forever. The kiss was shy and timid, your lips remaining together for mere seconds, but the intimacy of it made your head spin with the thought of her. The thought of her body pressed against yours, her mouth pressed against yours, forehead leaning against yours and arms pulling you impossibly closer, it was all too much. You were utterly mesmerised by her. Everything just felt so pure, sogenuine, so... intimate that it made you sigh gently into her mouth, pulling back with nothing but love evident in your eyes as she matched your tender gaze, just as obsessed with you as you were her.

"I told you this would be worth it," she whispers against you, her lips gently brushing yours, enticing you into gently claiming hers once more, smiling into her mouth.

"It really was," you murmur lovingly against her, her head hiding against your shoulder as she can't stop the wide smile appearing on her face, her nose scrunching up once more as you melt against her body, joy coursing through you at what just happened.

She kissed you.

You actually just kissed her.

A wave of giddiness overtook you as you grinned at her when she pulled back from your body, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as her hands left your body, your mind paying no attention to it as she looked at you in that adoring manner, consuming your thoughts.

What you didn't expect was to feel snow hitting the back of your head, an adorable laugh leaving her at her playful actions, disbelief evident on your face. The feeling of betrayal immediately left you at the heavenly noise that spills delicately from her, your head shaking to remove the snow in your hair as she cups your cheek, guiding you back down for an apologetic kiss, the two of you unable to stop smiling.

Another individual who couldn't stop smiling was Natasha who watched the scene unfold through the window with Clint, glad that you finally acted on your crush and helped her win the bet with the archer. He grumbled as he reached for his wallet, searching for the desired note as a sigh of relief left the redhead when you started to walk hand in hand through the snow, finding somewhere else to finally build the snowman.

***

Humming to yourself, you found yourself in Wanda's room again, this time sprawled out of her bed, waiting for the witch to return with the snacks for the movie night she planned for you. It was going to be a Christmas marathon, starting with Home Alone one and two, then onto the Grinch so Wanda could tease you about your 'icon' and then finally Elf as she was sure you'd be asleep by then, having discovered how much you loved to lay in bed yesterday when you fell asleep during the first attempt at the marathon, much to her amusement. This time, however, she planned to keep you awake with food and potentially a cuddle as the two of you swiftly discovered how much you both craved physical touch, even if it was something small like holding hands, a smile growing on her lips as she enters the room, remembering the various instances of you subtly reaching for her hand and interlocking your fingers.

A soft chuckle leaves her lips at the way your head raises off the bed at the sound of the door shutting, your eyes growing curious when you see the bowl in her hands, instantly perking up and eager to know what she brought. When your eyes saw the popcorn in the bowl, your smile widened, moving around on her bed so that your back was against the pillow at the headboard, arm raising to welcome her body against your side, the other woman complying to your silent request.

The feeling of her body snuggling against yours caused a grin to break out on your face, your heart unable to comprehend the sheer joy you felt over the last few days, grateful for her making such an impact on your life.

"You're incredible," you murmur softly when she places the bowl into your lap, your lips pressing to her temple, the art of being affectionate with one another natural to you both.

"Are you only saying that because I brought food?" she teases, carefully picking up a piece of the sweet and salty treat and placing it into her mouth, her head tilting to rest against your shoulder as she uses her magic to bring the remote closer to you both, her hand effortlessly grabbing it and starting the first film of the night.

"No, I'm saying that because you are the most amazing and beautiful woman I know," you whisper against her hair, earning a blush at your charming words. "Who just happens to always bring me food," you add teasingly, earning a playful pinch to your side, a small yelp leaving you.

"Shhh, just watch the film Detka," she murmurs, your smile widening at the endearment, not commenting on it as she shuffles her body closer to you, her fingers playing with whatever part of your shirt she can reach as the two of you delve into the world of Christmas cinema, content with being one another.

As the film plays on, without even realising it, your hand rests on her thigh, tracing idle patterns against the thin fabric of her pyjama pants, Wanda's cheeks a similar colour to her festive clothing as her thoughts go down a sinful route. She can't help the warmth that pools between her thighs at your actions, your hand high up on her thigh as your toned body presses into her, her mind replaying the image of you working out earlier, the way your body effortlessly showed signs of strength and stamina, her eyes having a hard time from tearing away from your hands, watching as your veins showed slightly, further adding to the arousal that started to build within her as she got lost in thought.

Hesitantly, she tilted her head to rest at the crook of your neck, her lips softly pressing a kiss there as she knew you weren't paying attention to the film, your thoughts growing louder as you replay all your memories with the brunette, the overwhelming amount of happiness and love you felt allowing the witch to hear them. To try and gain your attention, she pressed another kiss to your neck, your breath hitching at the action as your hand freezes at her thigh, her lips burning against your skin as your body grows warmer at her suggestive move.

"Detka," she sighs out, her breath fanning across your skin as she pulls back from your neck, her green eyes meeting yours, desire but also nervousness shimmering them.

"Yes?" you whisper out, gaze subconsciously drifting to her lips, remembering how addictive they are, your own eyes darkening as your gaze lingers, unable to look at anything else.

"I don't think either of us are watching the film," her voice is barely audible as she murmurs the words, tilting her head slightly, the action causing her lips to inch closer to yours, the movement subtly seductive as you wait for her to make the move, sensing a bit of indecision from her.

"I don't think we are," your tone lowering a little, patiently waiting for her, not wanting her to do anything she'd regret.

"I wonder what else we could possibly do..." she trails off, smiling a little shyly, biting down on her lower lip and fuck, you don't think you've ever felt so hot before, the sight of her intoxicating, making it impossible to think straight.

"I have no idea," you whisper back with a small smirk, tilting your head down so that your lips were brushing over hers gently, not applying enough pressure to give her what she wanted, your eyes watching how hers flutter shut, awaiting your mouth. "What do you suggest?"

"I think... I think we should kiss," she rasps out, moving her body so that she was facing you properly, your brow raising a little at her words as your smile grows, fingers moving to brush back a few stray strands of her hair back, eventually letting your hand rest on her cheek, cupping her jaw and bringing her a little closer.

Your eyes flicker over all of her features, admiring them all while waiting for her to lower her face, the brunette only doing so marginally, mirroring your actions and wanting to memorise every inch of your beauty.

It feels like you're waiting an eternity until she lowers her face even more, her lips barely putting any pressure on yours as they briefly brush over them. Your eyes flutter close when you feel her hands cup your jaw, waiting for her to kiss you, to crash her lips to yours, to do anything at this point as you just wait, wait and wait.

When she feels like she's admired you enough and savoured the moment, she kisses you. She kisses you softly and tentatively to begin with as you explore each other's mouths, her actions soon growing a little more confident as the kiss grows hungrier, Wanda seemingly starved of you. It's intimate, it's desperate, it's passionate. It's everything you dreamed it to be.

You can't do anything but give into her relentless mouth, hand clutching at her sweater to ground yourself as all you can think of is her lips moving against yours, her body pressed up against yours, her soft fingers threading through your hair, just her.

A soft moan leaves her when you guide her to straddle your lap, heat immediately taking over her body, your touch burning into her skin as arousal pools between her legs at the feeling of your body pressed against hers, strong arms wrapping around her, a sensual sigh escaping you as when she pulls back from the kiss, eyes darkening with desire as you peer up into the green, a shameless smile on your lips.

"I think we should do that again," you tease, leaning in for another kiss as she smiles against you, her confidence growing with every kiss, every peck in between laboured breaths as her hands move to your shoulders momentarily, gliding them down your back in a seductive way, a groan leaving you at the way her fingers press into the toned muscle satisfyingly.

Experimentally, you slide your tongue into her mouth, a sinful moan escaping her as she welcomes your advances, your hands toying with the hem of her jumper, not sure how far she wanted to go as your mouths move lewdly together, her back arching a little to press her body further against yours.

"Am I going too fast?" Your voice a gentle whisper as you pull back from the kiss, sensing a little bit of nerves from her, eyes gauging her reaction as your fingers had slipped beneath her clothing, feeling the warmth and softness of her bare skin, her cheeks flushing a deep red as she meets your enamoured gaze, not wanting to pressure her.

"No I just-" she cuts herself off, feeling a little embarrassed as your hands slide out of her jumper, snaking around her waist and pulling her closer to rest against your body, bringing her in for a soft embrace that she appreciates. "I never done this before," she confesses, a soft smile appearing on your lips as you guide her head back so you can meet her timid green, "I want to but I just... don't know what I'm doing."

"Do you trust me?" you ask, mimicking her words from the ice skating, your fingers raising to brush back another stray strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear affectionately as she nods. "I'll take care of you, I promise," you whisper, kissing her lips with nothing but love, conveying how gentle you'd be with her. "We can stop at any time," you reassure her, not wanting her to think she's committed to having sex with you, "Just tell me to stop and we stop. I don't care what's happening, all I want is for you to feel safe and comfortable with me." She smiles shyly at your words, tilting her head to kiss you once again, grateful for how caring and considerate you were. "We'll go at your pace, ok?"

"Ok," she murmurs back, smiling into another tender kiss as you do as you said, letting her control the way her lips move against yours, slowly building the hunger back up.

"Tell me what you want," you sigh out against her lips, feeling her hips subtly rock against your lap without her even realising it, your teeth softly nipping at her lower lip, earning a small moan as she flutters her eyes back open, meeting your patient gaze.

"I want...I just want you," she whispers, holding the intimate gaze before leaning back in, kissing you with a new sense of urgency, a small moan leaving you at her words. Your lips pull into a small smile as she slides her tongue hesitantly into your mouth, the kiss turning messy and causing a wave of arousal to flood through, Wanda's mind spinning at the intoxicating way you make her feel.

"You have me," your tone laced with love as she rests her forehead against yours, lips lingering open against one another, simply relishing in the intimacy. "Show me what you want from me," you encourage, sliding your hands from around her lower back to hers, letting her take a hold of your hands to guide them where she wants them, your lips parting from hers to pepper kisses along her jaw softly, her head lolling to the side to welcome your addictive touch.

She simply holds your hands for a moment, deciding what she wants from you, her mind freezing momentarily at the way your teeth scrape against her sensitive skin, a pleasant shiver running down her back as she curses lowly in Sokovian, the sultry sound causing a throb between your thighs.

When she's ready, she squeezes your hands softly, guiding them down her body to the hem of her sweater, hoping you understand her silent request. Your fingers slide under tentatively, feeling the way her stomach tenses and relaxes at your touch, the skin impossibly soft and enticing, your mind reminding you to wait for her as you caress the skin you can reach.

"Please," she murmurs out, one of her hands moving to your hair, threading her fingers through your silky locks and softly pulling you away from her neck, her lips pressing to yours with a hint of desperation as she grinds her hips with a little more purpose now, a wave of pleasure coursing through her.

"Off?" you mutter against her lips questioningly, her nodding into a sensual kiss as your lips meet gently, her sighing into your mouth as your hands grip the hem of her sweater, slowly, teasingly, pulling it off her body.

Her hands move off you to help you pull the item of clothing off, your gaze remaining on her face as she turns shy again, waiting for another nod before letting your gaze drift down her body, your breath hitching at her sheer beauty.

Her body is sculpted to perfection, crafted by Aphrodite herself to create the most beautiful woman you'd ever lay your eyes on, her delicate and smooth skin enticing your eyes all over her exposed body, her curves luring your hands to caress them softly, eyes flickering back up to hers, nothing but admiration and love in them.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" you whisper into a passionate kiss, her nerves immediately dissipating at the sheer honesty lacing your tone, another blush creeping onto her face at how amazed you were by her. "Any idea what you do to me?" you continue, wrapping your arms around her body and pulling her closer to hers, her bra covered chest flush against your body as she moans into your mouth, her body begging for more, needing you to touch her lower.

"Please Y/n," she sighs into your mouth, your hands creeping up her body and resting just under her bra, fingers brushing over the skin, causing goosebumps to rise. "I need you," her tone conveying how desperate she was, your worshipping touch only driving her towards madness, her body viewing them as teasing.

"Where do you need me, love?" the endearment spilling from your lips naturally, a wave of arousal flowing through her at your slightly husky voice, your lips parting from hers once more to kiss down her neck, sucking partly before moving to kiss her shoulder and collarbones, waiting for an answer.

"Here," she sighs out softly, her fingers wrapping around one of your wrists and guiding it down to meet the waistband of her pyjama pants, your head instantly leaving her body to look at her properly, the green in her eyes usually filled with love completely replaced by desire and hunger.

"Are you sure?" Your voice is full of care as your hand remains where she guided you, gazing into hers as your heart beats wildly in your chest, still stunned a little by the sight of her on top of you, the heat between your thighs incessant.

"Yes," her voice a mere whisper as she kisses you softly, deciding she wouldn't want anyone else to be her first, always having loved you without even realising it.

"Remember we can stop whenever you need to," you murmur before claiming her lips with a newfound purpose, wanting to give her everything she wants, fingers carefully sliding under her waistband.

"Fuck," she whispers out, voice a little shaky as her hands move to your back once again, clutching onto your t-shirt as your fingers brush against her core through her soaked panties, a groan leaving you at how wet she was for you. She was this desperate for you.

You move the pad of your finger against the wet fabric, teasingly sliding it up and down her core, earning a small, desperate moan from her into your mouth, her teeth biting down on your lower lip impatiently as you continue to work her body up, her hips bucking against your hand at the slightest of touches.

"Can I-"

"Please," she practically whimpers out, your lips tugging up into a smirk whilst your free hand glides up and down her back soothingly, your fingers slowly sliding under the waistband of her panties, a sensual sigh escaping her when you finally make contact with her core. "Detka," she pants out against your lips as you swallow the desperate noises that leave her lips as your finger swipes through the abundance of arousal that's pooled between her thighs, coating your digit as you explore her wet sex.

Pulling back from the kiss, your eyes observe every single reaction to your touch she offered you, drinking it up like an intoxicating substance as your finger spreads her slick around her, moving to circle her clit gently to begin with, slowly building in confidence as your touch grows firmer, intending to bring her as much as possible.

"You're so pretty like this," you mumble, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, teeth scraping the soft skin again to drive her mad, your finger sliding up and down her soaking folds before settling on teasing her entrance, a whine leaving her at your enamoured tone and taunting actions.

"Detka," she sighs out, tone conveying the sheer desperation she feels for you, needing you to bring her towards her release, her body needing your touch to satisfy her.

"Shhh, I'll take care of you," you murmur, tilting your head away from her neck to let your lips brush against her compelling ones, her breath fanning across your face as her lips part, your finger slowly sliding into her, your eyes in awe of her blissed out expression. "Tell me what feels good," you encourage, slowly curling your finger inside her beautifully, a moan spilling from her lips directly into your mouth as you claim her lips softly, slowly letting your lips slot over hers, her mind hazy with all the pleasure and heat flowing through her.

"Shit, there, right there," she groans as you curl your finger against her weak spot, the palm of your hand brushing against her clit as she rocks her hips against you, fingers gripping your shirt tightly.

"Yeah?" you husk out and the slight cockiness to your tone has her mind spinning even more with arousal, delirium taking over her as she moans against you once more, your name falling from her lips like a small chant as you thrust your finger in her a little faster, pleasure bubbling through her. "What if I do this?" your voice a teasing whisper, your thumb moving to brush over her clit, a choked moan escaping her as you move it in languid circles, doubling the pleasure fogging her mind.

"Y/n," she pants against you, the corner of your lips tugging up into a smirk at her desperate tone, the way her walls clench and spasm around you, her thighs tensing around your body as her hips buck harder when you time your movements right, a sudden wave of pleasure flowing through her. "Fuck," she sighs out sensually, parting your mouths as she's struggling to reciprocate the kiss, too busy focussing on the way you effortlessly slide in another finger, stretching her out perfectly.

"You're doing so well for me," you whisper, mouth moving to the shell of her ear and tone dropping, a slight rasp added to your voice further arouse her. One of her hands shoot up into your hair, messily tangling it into your locks as moans escape her, her hips trying to move a little faster and push her towards her nearing release, fingers gripping tightly making a dull pain wash over you, the action making you groan as the idea of how lost in pleasure she must be goes straight between your thighs.

"Detka," she sighs out, desperation and a hint of embarrassment lacing her tone, too nervous to ask you for what she wants as her hips indicate how close she is, your fingers still steadily thrusting into her and thumb occasionally brushing her clit, hips bucking harder against you. You immediately understand what she's asking for as she gently tugs your head back, lips pressing against yours passionately as she holds you close, back arching further into your body as she sighs into your mouth, a small whine escaping her as she teeters on the edge of her release.

"I've got you," you murmur gently, your free hand moving up her body and to her face, cupping her cheek intimately and deepening the kiss, a moan leaving her at the sheer amount of love you pour into the embrace. "Let go for me," you mumble between kisses, her eyes squeezed shut as pleasure threatens to take over her.

"Y/n," she whispers out sinfully for a final time, body tensing against yours while your mouths refuse to part, muffling the desperate sounds leaving her lips while pleasure wracks through her body. Her legs tense around your body once more, her hands adamant on keeping you close as she keeps your head against hers, foreheads resting against one another as you slow the kisses down, pecking her lips in between laboured breaths. Your fingers slowed inside her, letting her walls clench and spasm around you as she rode out the last waves of her release, her body eventually relaxing in your lap and melting against your comforting body.

Your gentle breath caressed her lips as she eventually opened your eyes, timidly smiling at you and claiming your lips once more in an innocent manner, her adorable expression causing you to reciprocate the action as your free hand moves to glide up and down her back soothingly, fingers pulling out of her when she was ready.

"I'm so proud of you," you whisper with nothing but honesty and care in your words, her cheeks blushing at the way you tenderly gaze at her, her fingers moving to fix your ruffled hair. She smiles at you softly as she tucks a few strands behind your ear, your lips meeting her cheek lovingly as she just wants to bask in the intimate moment for a little longer, the two of you simply locked in a lovers embrace as your arm snakes around her middle.

Many soft words and gentle whispers later, you had managed to convince her into going to the bathroom to get cleaned up, not wanting her to be uncomfortable later and also wash your hands quickly, the brunette blushing at the cocky smirk on your lips as she watches you, proud of yourself for being able to make her feel good and most importantly loved and safe. You let her find herself a new pair of underwear and some new pyjama pants, opting for the pair she first came to you in before searching for a new shirt to wear.

Once she had opted for an old shirt with her favourite sitcom on it, you offered her your hoodie you took off earlier, the jumper being an oversized fit which you knew she loved, Wanda taking it with a wide smile, unable to stop the butterflies in her stomach at how caring you were. She let her nose rest against the collar of it, able to smell your perfume on it as you wrapped your arms around her waist from behind, dramatically falling onto the bed with her in your arms, eliciting an even bigger smile from her and a nose scrunch.

She turned around in your arms so she was facing you as you pulled her body impossibly closer, smiling fondly at the sight of her in your clothes, her leg sliding in between yours to find a more comfortable position to cuddle in as your fingers drew idle patterns against her back.

"Thank you for being so gentle," she whispers a little shyly, your gaze softening more somehow as she moves her fingers to play with the baby hairs at the back of your neck.

"I'll always be gentle with you," you murmur, kissing her temple and letting your lips linger for a minute, building the courage to say what you wanted to. "Thank you for the last week, I've really enjoyed spending time with you," you say, still trying to get to the three words you wanted to confess, her smile growing a little wider at your soft tone.

"Have I convinced you to love Christmas?" she asks curiously, the intimate gaze prolonged as you once again get lost in her eyes, smiling tenderly at her, thinking of how to phrase your words.

"I don't quite love Christmas yet," you whisper out, your words still giving her hope. "But, I...I know I love you," you confess, your heart beating wildly in your chest for the few seconds she doesn't reply, the way her nose scrunches once again in that adorable manner easing the worry of rejection.

"I love you too," she whispers back with fondness lacing her tone, her lips meeting yours once again for an intimate kiss as you can't help but grin into the kiss, a teasing comment finding its way to your lips.

"More than Christmas?" you whisper, earning a soft laugh from her as she moves her face to hide at the crook of your neck, your skin so warm and comfortable, lulling her into a relaxed state.

"More than Christmas," she chuckles out, wrapping her arms around your middle securely, your arms mirroring the action as your lips press a final kiss to the top of her head, the witch amazed at how you, a grinch, managed to steal her heart. 

[meo-eiru]

hi dear, I'm not sure if ur ask box is already open, sorry if it isn't, please take your time and stay healthy

soo I've been thinking about that whole concept of delulu elf babying us and BOY isn't that depressing?? like I'd have a whole ass existential crisis after some time

I mean in my perspective, it must be pretty humiliating for a grown person to be not be taken seriously to such extent. like our boy doesn't even trust us to leave the house and is convinced that his darling needs his absolute protection. no personal space, little to no social interactions except for him, etc.

ANND the worst part is that Silas doesn't even realize that he's doing something wrong, unlike classic yanderes. in his head, he's only doing what's best for darling, without any ill intentions (man's head is filled with unicorns and rainbows). in a way, he's the child here; one that accidentally breaks a kitten's paw because they hugged it too tight.

so can you really blame him? can you really bring yourself to hate him? even if you're upset at him for taking away your basic human rights, he's only trying his best for you!! even if his concept of that "best" is a bit twisted. it's a whole ass internal conflict for darling we have here!

and like, I'm a pretty empathetic person, so I'd hate to see him cry. I'd hate myself if I ever snapped at him (he should only cry from pleasure uh huh). so the only choice I have is to slowly convince Silas to change, but can that really work? what if I'd have to spend a millenia like this, slowly dying on the inside?

that's kind of a hilarious concept for me, like, he's the mama here, but you have to sit him down and patiently explain how your body works, to not die because of overfeeding or smth like that

you created a masterpiece, my brainworms are brainworming so hard rn. I also have some interesting thoughts abt Elias ^^

(DESPAIR!! SUFFERINGS!! ok I'm sorry I still want to squeeze his booba like a stress ball)

I love this ask a lot because that's exactly the vibe I was going for with him.

It's very contradicting. On one hand his mothering is appealing because someone taking care of you with such genuine love is... nice. No matter how you act, no matter what tricks you pull, Silas will forever and ever love you with all his heart. You are his precious flower and he has so much affection for you. He can heal you, he can keep you fed, he can give you the love no one else can.

But at the end of the day that love will be the thing that ruins you. The fundamental difference between you two's existence, how you two view life and each other is just too much. While Silas can take care of your basic needs and give you love, him being so unable to fully understand you and your capabilities can and will eventually break you.

Silas is nice but he isn't. Silas can keep you healthy but also can't. He thinks he's sufficient for you but he just isn't.

He's beautiful and lives in a bright world full of colors but will be the one who'll strip your world of color.

You'll slowly change as he continues to suffocate you with affection.

And he will do all of it with genuine love and good intent in his heart.

Which is what makes him so contradicting. He's like your doom wrapped in cute packaging and presented to you by someone who loves you. He's a poison turned into a warm homecooked meal.

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part i : you were mine but—

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤🩵

Arguably the sharpest knife in his chest about this whole fucking shitshow?

Eddie thought they were doing good.

Like: so fucking good.

Eddie thought they were on the cusp of…that they were building something.

He’s such an idiot. Such a…

A heartsick fucking idiot.

But if he’s gracious—which he’s not, least of all to himself—when he puts all the pieces together, lines the evidence up and analyzes it, thinks of it in terms of a narrative that he can understand and recognize the flaws in, where he’d rewrite the ending or tweak the rising action so everything slides into place realistically, cause and effect in balance just right: Eddie can see that the way this has all shaken out is fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Because there honestly hadn’t been any signs that they weren’t laying the foundations of something long-term, something lasting; that they weren’t in this deep and rooted, strong and committed and serious in a real, tangible way, and, just…

Forever. Eddie was…he was playing for keeps, here. He thought, he just, he thought—

Fuck.

He just…really believed he wasn’t alone in it all.

Again: idiot.

It’d started so fucking predictably, really, because if there’s one thing that Eddie clocked about Steve Harrington from the get-go of actually getting to know him versus operating on the popular-gorgeous-jock framework he’d distilled the guy down to in his head before 1986: the one consistent thing he’d figured from what he’d heard and what he’d seen put together was that: Steve Harrington?

Bastard’s protective to a fucking fault.

So when he blinked back to the land of the living with Steve goddamn Harrington at his bedside? Standing guard, looking a little haggard—like he cared, at least enough to worry—but still fucking devastatingly pretty, good god-

When he woke up to that, Eddie was surprised and also: not at all surprised.

The way he lit up when he saw Eddie was conscious, like world was less before that moment and something right slid back into place? Eddie…Eddie felt like his body was pretty wholly broken but that fucking cracked something down his middle, decimated parts of him in new ways that hadn’t been already devastated on another plane, were sitting ripe for wholesale ruin.

He’d let Steve blame the breathiness that’d overcome him on coming back from the brink of death, because Steve didn’t need to know the sensations, the emotions, that were running riot through Eddie’s veins.

But then it hadn’t stopped.

Steve standing guard at his side became a constant, like Eddie couldn’t quite comprehend save that it felt like his body was knitting itself around the fact of this more-than-good dude and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that, save kind of just…poke curiously at the new shape of everything he was for it, and once he worked through the fear of the unfamiliar in it?

To kinda…savor it. Roll around in it and relish.

Probably it was gonna be short lived anyway. Probably it was gonna go away when Eddie finally got out of here. Only made sense to soak it up while it lasted.

And it was one of those early days, where Eddie was soaking it up and before anything possible beyond the bubble of middle-space they were existing in inside Eddie’s hospital room was even hinted at. Steve had gone to check on Max while Eddie grappled a bit to look down at himself a little better under the handkerchief that the hospital deemed sufficient as clothing, and he braced for the worst because it felt like the worst and what he did remember at all from the scene of the inter-dimensional mauling definitely aligned with being ‘the worst’: but it was honestly mostly bandages and pain.

Eddie didn’t…on second thought he didn’t know if he was ready to see what was underneath just yet, so he was actually kinda grateful that his hubris about it all didn’t immediately have a chance to floor him, especially when he was alone because he’d thought it’d be easier to stomach if it was just him—but the prospect, the bullet dodged, lodged in his throat and proved him kinda instantly wrong for the sharp cut of bile rising in him, and the violent jump of his pulse right behind it.

His hand had gravitated to his chest, though, like he could keep his heart from cracking his ribs that way, and he noticed that…even the light pressure ached, so he looked down a little more carefully, didn’t think the little fuckers had concentrated their attacks on the center of his chest so he tucked his chin and tried to see what was causing the sting—maybe just like, general area tenderness after playing buffet table to fucking…flying hellspace rodents but—

No. No: even from this weird-ass uncomfortable angle, Eddie could see the outline, coukd make out the dark stain of a bruise.

In the shape of a hand.

And listen, Eddie wasn’t foolish. He knew that everyone busted ass to get him topside and to a hospital. And that probably involved…stuff he didn’t want to really dwell on too long in terms of the nitty-gritty of his own mortality. He was also very much aware that Steve had played a crucial role, even if the man himself didn’t stand up and declare it. The kids didn’t have any sense of a fucking filter, so.

Eddie knew.

But Eddie then started tracing the splay of fingers on his sternum, his heartbeat so fucking heavy under even just the brush of his nails as he followed the outline of the purpling over, and over, and over, imagined what it would take to make that kind of an impression on his skin because Eddie was fucking pale, yeah, he marked quick—but not that dark.

Not that deep.

“Shit.”

Eddie’d startled, snapped his attention to the doorway where Steve had reappeared, looking a little breathless as he took Eddie in, came quick to his side and leaned to look closer at the monitor next to him and oh: Eddie hadn’t realized that the beeping was so loud, so fast. Hadn’t realized his heartbeat had ratcheted up quite so high.

Not that he was surprised.

“Shit, are you okay,” Steve barely breathed, eyes so goddamn big about it as his hands had kinda hovered, as he’d tried to figure out what to do, how to help, because that was what he was always doing; that’s who he was to his core, and Eddie…

“Oh god, let me call the nu—”

“Don’t.”

Eddie’d half-moaned it, god: scratchy but desperate as he reached for Steve’s hand and he…

He suspected he knew exactly how big that hand was; what shape it’d make to a fucking T. But he needed to see

For sure.

“What are you,” Steve’s brow had furrowed in that way Eddie was becoming increasingly aware he wanted to kiss smooth, and he started to ask it as Eddie grabbed to uncurl his grip from the bar at the side of the bed but Steve gave up fighting quick, focused on stopping Eddie from moving at all instead, from stretching the way he was against the precarious threads holding him together as he reached for the neck of his gown again, still loose enough from where he’d pulled the back up, left his ass out against the sheets to bare his breastbone, the mess of the tattoos on his chest more grisly after everything than any horrors he’d gotten inked before but—

This was a different kind of horrifying thing. Not least—maybe most—because it was entirely possible that it was also the most beautiful, sacred thing to ever touch Eddie’s skin. To ever beat through Eddie’s fucking veins.

“You,” Eddie let go of the last breath he could wrestle out before his lungs seized up too tight, because then he was watching it happen, watching Steve’s broad palm as it hovered over the imprint, shivering when Steve’s warmth made contact: eclipsing the bruise near-perfect, just like Eddie knew deep down it fucking would.

His heart took the hint and started shivering under Steve’s hand immediately, like it had something to prove.

“Ed,” Steve’s voice was wispy, choked a little; eyes too bright and Eddie feels like there must be so many kinds of dying, because he’d felt one keenly under that angry red lightning; this was a wholly other thing.

But felt just as keenly life-or-death.

“You,” Eddie whispered, the words, the truth, the feeling of it all too fragile, too precious to disturb, and he wondered if his heart knew Steve had pushed the bruises down around it to save it, if that’s why it was so unbridled and unabashed in hammering against that touch, that touch—

“I think I heard you.”

And Steve? Big eyes framed with those feather lashes, stretched wide and all made of shine and earnest fucking feeling?

“You didn’t…want to lose me?” Eddie’s voice had been so small, so so small because he did think he’d heard that, and the wisps of recollection, of a frantic but resolute voice demanding of him: what he was able to collect and try to tie into a whole matched up when he paired it all with Steve in his head, but what if he was wrong?

What if it was all just fever dreams and wishful thinking on his deathbed, what if Steve had no investment in him beyond keeping the Party safe in its entirety, no exceptions; what if Eddie was fucking wrong and showed too much of his hand with this, with Steve’s palm pressed to his thrashing heart and—

Then Steve was brining his free hand to Eddie’s cheek, fucking…cradling it like it fucking meant something, like he could matter and—

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

“You,” and so many possible ways to end that thought had swam through Eddie’s head—you barely know me, you can’t possibly care if I live or die, I cannot matter one fucking bit in your universe, so why would it matter but Steve’s hand was warm under his, and Steve didn’t pull away, only leaned in, only stayed close enough that Eddie could feel his breath on his skin and Steve could chart the way Eddie’s heart took to pummelling his already-taxed ribs but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because Steve held there, so careful of the pain but nothing short of steady, devoted, a soul-sworn guard of that heart under his hand like it did matter, like Eddie did…

Like Steve ever could—

“Stevie,” Eddie would probably have flushed if the situation had been anything but what it was. If his heart wasn’t racing into Steve’s touch at the chest and just under the jaw where Steve’s thumb pressed almost proprietary, almost like a shield but also like a welcome, like the idea of Eddie’s heart beating into him wasn’t a dealbreaker, and fuck, fuck—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve breathed out against him, prickling dangerous across his skin and Eddie’s heart leapt a little, fuck; more than a little and Steve felt it, front-row-center, couldn’t not feel it but he just leaned closer still, and Eddie was front-row himself to the catch in Steve’s inhale, undeniable and unapologetic as he murmured low, turning into Eddie’s cheek a little and Eddie maybe resented how it forced him to pull away,until his lips brushed the tip of Eddie’s jawbone and drew a whole ass shudder down his goddamn spine.

“Just know,” Steve gasped there, fucking…panted and hell if it didn’t catch in Eddie’s blood like pure bliss; “just know why.”

And fuck, but Eddie could only press in to the warmth of Steve’s lips where they moved for the words alone, let alone what words; what Eddie thought maybe they meant—

“Me too,” Eddie rasped a little, because fuck him, man; this was something…something else, swelling up in his chest so strong and Steve had to be able to feel it where he still held against him, palm to his galloping pulse at the source, feeling the life he coaxed back into the world.

“Does it have to make sense just yet?” Eddie asked, knew he sounded too hopeful, too desperate, more than he’d earned, than was safe but his heart kept knocking against that hand, so fucking insistent and who was he to deny it, to try and wrestle in into being less when he couldn’t even hide it, when it was evident to the man it was leaping at; for.

“I don’t think so,” Steve mouthed more than spoke where his lips dragged wet across the stubble on Eddie’s cheek.

“Then,” Eddie tipped his head, tried to catch Steve’s eyes, aimed to reason, to convince but the moment he moved, Steve dipped his chin just so to take Eddie’s lips, to kiss so hard, so complete with what felt like it couldn’t even be reasoned as less than all of him, because how could less than all feel like this—

Fucking impossible.

And Eddie couldn’t shy away—as Steve kissed him breathless, left him gasping; Eddie couldn’t shy away from the sense that he was being killed and revived all over again, endless and unbreaking, and it was perfection.

Jesus fuck.

And the kicker was that…weeks passed. A whole month, close to another. And if anything changed it was all for the better, for the more and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, if he was entirely honest. He…the bruise healed, y’know? That brand above his heart but—

He didn’t need it anymore. That was the thing. He didn’t need to see.

He was very fucking aware. Every minute of every day. He was…so aware. It could kill him better than those bats, it was so big and so much, and so quick, but with all that, probably because of all that: Eddie’d never felt anything even remotely like what it meant to shake off sleep and have Steve Harrington kiss you to wakefulness, to hold you for the nightmares as much as the news of small victories on the road to recovery: never wavering.

Never leaving.

When Eddie got the go-ahead to continue his rehab outpatient-style, his original conviction that all of this ended at the latest upon discharge was immediately challenged, because Steve had become so much more than he’d started as, but Eddie still worried. Made himself sick over it.

Felt like an indefensible monster as Steve rubbed his back, brought him soup, tended him like Eddie didn’t cause his own suffering, and all for the terror of losing the very man who was there, without question.

Then he signed himself out, and Steve drove him home.

Save that Eddie recognized where they were headed and…he only knew one person in Loch Nora.

“Your uncle’s still in the motel by the plant,” Steve had explained what Eddie already knew but hadn’t put together when Eddie raised an eyebrow in askance, wholly unsure how to process any of this, any of this; unsure how to hope in the face of what he was seeing, held against what he was wishing.

“Government’s being fucking assholes about setting you up with someplace appropriate,” and something in Steve’s tone had made plain that he was not just very clear on what constituted ‘appropriate’, he was probably actively involved somehow in holding the people in question rightly accountable for appropriate, and nothing less.

And Eddie…he did say he didn’t need a mark you could see on his heart, didn’t he.

“You need the room while you get better,” Steve murmured as he killed the engine, and lifted Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressed his mouth on the knuckles, nuzzling a little, eyes closed and Eddie…Eddie didn’t know what to do.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a monitor to rat his ass out when his heart started trying to escape orbit—fuck just his ribs, how pedestrian—this time.

They sat in a living room that looked like it was once absolutely pristine and still was, mostly, but up close Eddie could see little snags on the sofa, could feel the texture of the fabric different under his fingers for scrubbing out a stain. He suspected four infamously unmannered teenagers were the culprits. The remaining stiffness of the cushions was good for the way his body was still working through being gnawed apart, but he was gone far enough to kind of immediately hope he’d see how they wore with love and use and maybe something more once they got there, once Eddie’s body cooperated again, because he…Steve brought him home.

And maybe they didn’t have to stop when Eddie left the hospital. Maybe he didn’t have to lose.

He’d only made it shortly past the best fucking grilled cheese he’d maybe ever tasted, and he didn’t think it was only because it was his first meal without an aftertaste of sterile in too fucking long—but he only lasted a little more than an hour before Steve’d helped him to a guest room on the first floor that’d obviously been reworked for him, from the way he could reach the bed from just inside the door, to the fucking posters that he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t have had on hand, and Eddie’d giggled a little wetly at the Ozzy one, because he figured the man steadying him at his side would never be anything but intertwined with the Prince of Darkness in his mind, now—but Steve, who’d more than proven he was so far beyond any kind of king, won hands down. By a landslide.

And who could have seen that coming?

“Careful,” Steve chided him gently as he guided Eddie slowly down to the mattress and made to tuck him in, and the word was so warm, so warm but Eddie had to…

He had to reach. Again. He needed Steve, he…needed.

The handprint on top of his heart didn’t need to be a thing he could see, but he needed Steve to…know some level of what he was feeling, of how much was inside him already, and growing, the momentum building and he didn’t want to feed it, didn’t want to let it run if he wasn’t going to have someone to catch it, to run with him but he also didn’t think there was any chance to stop it, now, he didn’t think he could trim it back or tame it from consuming him and he wasn’t sure he’d even want to if he actually had the power because it was the best feeling he’d ever known, even if it was terrifying, even if it could hurt him more than anything he’d ever known and—

“I don’t want to be alone,” was what spilled from his lips with Steve’s hand above his heartbeat as it pumped so goddamn hard it couldn’t be denied, it couldn’t be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to lose what he’d rebuilt himself around all these weeks, he—

“Good,” and Steve leaned down, cradled Eddie’s face and tipped him up to kiss him full, hard, one hand still on his chest because that was the mark, the promise, the fight for all that this was and all it could be like a fucking vow and Eddie melted for it on sight, on contact.

“Because I’m not leaving,” and Steve brushed the tip of his nose back and forth against Eddie’s, his smile like honey in his tone as he pecked Eddie on the lips one more time before stretching his hand to follow him across the bed, to crawl to the other side and slide in next to Eddie, to carefully arrange him against Steve’s body, to wrap around him with so much care, to touch nothing too tender and everything safe to hold as Steve tucked his face against Eddie’s neck and kissed behind his ear as he breathed:

“Never gonna leave you all alone again.”

And Eddie believed him.

Eddie believed him.

And when, weeks later when Eddie was hurting less and moving more, perched in the corner of the couch that was starting to give a little under persistent weight, starting to feel like it was meant to be used and lend comfort; as Eddie was poking at campaign notes for the gremlins, pen caught between his teeth, he only paused when he felt the gravity of a familiar gaze settle on him—not immediately, because he liked just existing in it, feeling its heft, but after enough moments to satisfy him he looked up, met those eyes and felt them in his goddamn soul as he asked:

“What?”

And Steve had just kept on staring, the bare hint of a quirk at the corners of his lips spreading to the full sunrise of his smile.

“You fit, here,” and he’d said it so simply, so…much like a truth, a fact of the universe—Eddie Munson fits, belongs in this place, this space, this home, this life—and then the smile dimmed ever so slightly, cloud cover across the shine as Steve shifted a little, crossed his arms loose but still as a barrier over his chest: “if you want to, I mean—”

And Eddie sat up straighter, and he reached both his hands out to Steve because:

“I want to,” it was all he wanted, really; it wasso far beyond his wildest dreams but it was real, Eddie could see and touch it, taste it, feel it through his blood when it pumped, tracking through his whole body, filling up his heart overfull and magnificent and he as just…

“Sweetheart,” he took Steve’s hands and tugged him down to sit next to Eddie, settled him so close; “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want that.”

He leaned back, wholly prone and never once letting go of Steve’s hands, never once doing anything but keeping them laced together and anchored, locked tight and Steve matched him, followed him as Eddie drew him to his healed-enough chest to settle right at the center, to hear Eddie’s heartbeat for the declaration it was, it already was in its entirety:

“You fit here.”

And he did. They both did. Their worlds had shifted, grew around the shapes they made together and after not-long-at-all, they fit so fucking well that it was bespoke to their cells, they’d never fit anyone else. It was quick and it was heady and it was fucking right.

For months

And then it all went to shit.

Because Steve decided what should have been expected, honestly—that Eddie wasn’t worth the hassle, that he wasn’t right for Steve, that Steve’s staggeringly-expansive capacity for love was wasted to hell on this low-life dipshit who couldn’t even graduate on his third try at high school, who maybe didn’t have a murder charge anymore in the legal system but would never wash it clean from the court of public opinion, who was…trouble. Always trouble.

Not fucking worth it.

It’s just…Eddie never thought Steve would stop wanting him. He maybe went in reticent at first, but Steve had loved so hard out the gate that as soon as he knew he was allowed, and welcome? Eddie didn’t hesitate to meet that love beat for beat.

He just never imagined his love would ever be unwelcome; that that's how his heart would break.

What breaks in the moment, though—the heartbreak is constant, and unfortunately proving to be kinda fucking unending, really—but what breaks now is…possibly the handle on the front door for the way someone’s banging and jiggling it back and forth like the first time it didn’t give against the lock was just a fluke.

He frowns, considers waiting out whoever’s enough of a dick to knock like that but apparently not so witch-hunty to throw a brick through the window—which: Eddie will take progress, he guesses—but when a concerning creak sounds from near the hinges, Eddie thinks of Wayne, and how his uncle doesn’t deserve a broken front door, so.

Heartbroken or not, Eddie has to drag himself to deal with…this.

Then he’s throwing the door open and…this is—

“We need to talk.”

This should have been expected. There’s really only one little asshole who’d assault his door with that much…determination.

“Henderson—” Eddie huffs, because he knows he needs to set a date for them all to get together, he left the campaign they were in kinda dangling on a thread when he didn’t hold the gatherings at St—

Well, when their regularly scheduled venue became too much for Eddie’s heart to handle.

Which: okay, fine, he gets it but like, he can’t care as much as he maybe should when he feels like this, and the kids need to fucking take a chill pill and if they can’t understand, then at least they can just shut the fuck up for at a couple more weeks while Eddie licks his wounds and sees if they decide to finally scab over enough that he doesn’t keep with busting them back open every time he breathes—

“About Steve.”

Eddie’s heart shudders just to hear the name. He’s avoided hearing it for weeks, now; it hurts too much.

He hears it enough in his own head, in his dreams, in his nightmares when he see the worst, in the cadence of his fucking pulse because his heart doesn’t know how not to be Steve’s, kinda feels like it’s not interested in learning, will never be anything other than what it is now, forever, and—

“We need to talk about what you did to Steve.”

Wait.

Wait, what he did to—

What?

❄️

>>> part ii

for @kultiras🖤

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divider credit here

[gravidwithlore]

Man cheats on his spouse, gets knocked up, inevitably gets cursed so that he can't give birth until he comes again on the cock that put the baby in there. Problem is the guy is such a slut, he doesn't remember, or even know the name of, who could have knocked him up.

His journey to find and get fucked by his baby daddy gets even harder when he learns he's growing twins. Big twins. He shows up to the divorce proceedings an absolute mess. Between his quest and pregnancy brain, he forgot to buy a new suit and is stuck wearing his pre-pregnancy clothes. His old suit is quickly ruined, pants ripped and shirt buttons popped, which does not win him any favors with the judge at all. His ex smugly looks on as his milk starts coming in right in the middle of the courtroom.

The man hits 2 months past due, and finally gets a lead on who might have filled up his womb with such gigantic twins. He approaches them, his back cramping, belly low and heavy, tits leaking, every cell in his body screaming how desperate he is to push his babies out. It feels like he cums harder than he ever has in his life as his water breaks and contractions grip his body. Finally, finally! He can feel his first babies head move into his birth canal. The pressure on the most sensitive parts of his body and relief of finally being in labor has him cumming over and over again as he pushes out his child bit by bit.

The baby is so big it takes over a day to push the head out and another few hours after that to push out the shoulders. He's barely conscious as the biggest baby he's ever seen is placed, wailing, on his chest. He's enamored with his child and relieved it's all over, at least until he remembers he still has to birth their twin. He tries to enjoy the brief break before contractions begin again and he's back in labor with another gigantic baby. As he waits and waits, his dread grows. The doctor only confirms his suspicions.

His twins are fraternal, not identical. Meaning they weren't split from one egg, but came from two separate eggs. Which means it's entirely possible they were fertilized by two different people. But the doctor also brings him some brand new news as well! He wasn't actually having twins! He's having triplets! His first baby was so big that it blocked his third baby from being detected, but now that that baby is born and greedily suckling from his chest, they can see it clear as day now. And finally some good news! These twins do have the same parent! All he needs to do is find whoever put them there! Again!

(It takes him a long, long time to realize they're his ex's, and his ex won't touch him with a 10 foot pole. Not without seeing him sufficiently suffer for a while at least.)

[electronicwitchcollection]

~*Grimmjow Smut*~

“One bed trope” & Rutting/breeding

The Quincy war had ended. Soul society had began rebuilding from the ruins, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Buildings had been rebuilt, the 13 divisions coming together in unity after the destruction and loss you all endured. The new head captain, previous captain of the 8th, Shunsui Kyoraku, had led the shinigami into the new world created. Along with the new found peace, soul society had gained some new recruits. One of them being the former Espada, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.

A brutally gruff man with a lethally short temper and a thirst for battle that rivalled that of Captain Kenpachi. After his efforts in support of the war and the glowing recommendations given by war hero Kisuke Urahara, he had been granted a place in the goeti 13 court guards.

Unfortunately, due to your inability to say no and your constant need to appease your superiors, you had been landed with the gruelling task of "teaching Grimmjow the ropes" so to speak. The arrancar had seemed just as disappointed by this match up as you were. Arms permanently crossed over his muscular chest, he had spent the majority of the past three days of your journey glaring at you. Which was preferable to the snide comments and rumbling growls he otherwise offered you.

You couldn't wait to make it back to the Seireitei, the last leg of your journey should have you arriving back by late morning tomorrow. You would suggest walking through the night to end the painful silence sooner, if not for the angry black clouds rolling closer at a rapid pace. The temperature had lowered considerably, your brisk walking thankfully warming you sufficiently. You pulled the map from your sash, eye brows furrowed as you came to a stop and tried to figure out how far away you were from the inn you had reserved for the night.

"how much longer?" your unwilling companion grumbled from behind you. Fighting the urge to throw the map at his head, you concentrated on the markings.. it's going to be at least another three hours of Mr. Sunshine's radiant personality.

"Are you deaf, woman?! "  Grimmjow growled, testing your patience "How much longer? It's going to rain soon" 

Folding the map back up, you took your time placing it securely in your sash as the winds picked up around you. The fact that you were waiting until you were finished before addressing the crude brute, was less about the efficiency of securing your map and more because you enjoyed making him wait. "About three hours Grimmjow. Four if you keep wasting time bitching" 

"I ain't bitching! It's gunna rain! " he roared at your retreating back, you started back on your journey, not waiting to see if he would follow

"aww, is the kitty scared of a little rain?" You unkindly teased over your shoulder. You heard the rumble deep in his chest, clearly about ready to snap

"I ain't scared of nothing!" such eloquent grammar the Espada exhibited. "Damn bitch, can't you feel the storm coming? Fucking weak shiningami" 

"Listen, Grimmjow, the longer you stand there arguing with me, the longer we'll be stuck in the storm you're so desperately trying to avoid "  you turn to face him, started a little by how he looked. He looked frenzied. Blue hair sticking out as though he had been running his fingers through it. His skin looked clammy and flushed, face had a dull pink tinge, unlike the brilliant red you had witnessed during a screaming rampage. His arms tensed at his sides, bulging biceps trembling minutely as his fists opened and closed in tight fists.

His eyes looked wild. The brilliant blue seemed faded with an animalistic sheen. Blown pupils darted around erratically, avoiding looking straight at you. He must really hate getting wet. The fight left you at the sight of him. Sighing, you offer an alternative, as much as he was getting on your last neves, it really wasn't in you to be intentionally cruel, "there's a trapper shack about fifteen minutes up the side road. It won't be as nice as the inn, but providing there's no one there we should be able to survive one night" 

He clenched his jaw, offering you a tight nod. Taking the hint, you resumed your leading, teetering off the main road to follow the dusty beaten path.

—————————————————

"you've got to be kidding me"

You weren't some materialistic princess, you could slum it with the best of them. Getting your hands dirty had never phased you. The state of the shack, however, was pushing it. The howling wind ripped through the barely held together shack, forcing its way through the rotting wooden slats. Every inch of the place was covered in a sheet of dust, the muddy floor held long forgotten footprints of past hunters. A sooty fire pit sat in the middle of the room, jagged rocks forming a wobbly circle, small hole in ten roof above to allow ventilation for the smoke.

There was a helpful pile of dried logs near the beaten door, clawing onto its hinges desperately. The one saving grace, as it had been pelting down with heavy rain the past ten minutes, the chance of you finding any dry wood outside was slim to absolutely fucking impossible. What made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach, however, was the single bed pushed into the corner of the room. Thin blanket messily thrown over the questionably stained mattress, two pillows long since lost their plump plush. Two Tatami mats pushed against the opposite wall, probably stoping the wall from tumbling over.

"move" Grimmjow pushed his way into the shack, nudging your shoulder harshly. Shaking him self, not dissimilar to the way a dog would rid its fur of water. Grimmjow looked around the room, Unphased by the grimy appearance. He scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. "Not up to your standards princess? "  he sneered in your direction, foot kicking the rocks around the fire pit. "Afraid you'll break a nail?"

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage in his snappy remarks. Closing the door behind you, silently pleading with it to stay standing at least til morning, you reached down to grab a couple of different sized logs. Stacking them near the fire pit, you pulled off your backpack, digging through your preserves to find your flint and steel and a pouch of dry kindling.

Kneeling onto the cold ground, you arranged the kindling into a loose pile, striking the flint and steel sending sparks into the bundle. When glowing embers caught, you lifted the pile to your mouth, blowing steadily until a small flame licked to life. Satisfied you began placing twigs into a teepee, watching as they caught light. Silently to built up the pile until a controlled fire crackled in the middle of the room, giving off its roaring heat.

Grimmjow had leaned himself against the wall, arms folded over his chest. Legs crossed at the ankles, he had been staring at you, watching as you created fire.

"No thanks Grimmjow, I don't need any help. Thanks for asking"  You sarcastically remark. The answering scoff you received at least let you know sarcasm was something even hollows understood. Too tired to cook yourself a meal, you pulled out some jerky and a pre-made rice ball for your dinner. Grimmjow didn't need anything to eat. While, you discovered, he could eat human food, he could also be satisfied by chomping down on smaller hollows.

That was a sight you wouldn't forget in a hurry. The animalistic way he leaped at the hollows you had encountered earlier in the day. Sharp teeth ripping into the flesh of the howling beasts with a sadistic grin on his face. Grimmjow swallowing those mouthful's of hollow flesh was something else entirely.

Banning the memory from your mind so not to completely ruin your appetite, you moved to sit on the bed, trying not to think about what that stain was. Grimmjow hadn't moved from his space as far away from you as the cabin allowed. Mindlessly chewing at your food, your eyes started to wander. His fingers had gripped into his biceps, the indents pushed into the flesh looked painful. He kept shifting his weight between his feet, crossing and uncrossing his ankles.

Your chewing slowed as you regarded him. You were in from the rain, drying nicely from the heat provided by the fire. So why did he look just about ready to claw his own skin off? Perhaps he was dreading the sleeping arrangements as much as you were

"so" you started the awkward conversation after swallowing the last of your light meal. He tilted his chin into your general direction at your conversation starter "how are we doing this?"

He jerked his head fully to you then, eyes widened "we ain't doing anything" his husky voice rumbled. It was your turn to tilt you head, this time in confusion

"sleeping arrangements? There's only one bed" you emphasised the point by tapping the bed below you. You see the realisation dawn on his face before pushing it away with a sneer. You couldn't fathom what he could've been so worried about

"pfft, you take it, don't wanna hear your bitching all night if you had to sleep on the floor." Grimmjow moved to the tatami mats leaning against the wall, throwing them unceremoniously to the ground with a thud. You were pleased to see they weren't hiding a gaping hole in the wall. Grimmjow fell backwards onto the mat, crossing his arms under his head and stared at the wooden roof.

Not letting the comment slide, you picked up one sorry excuse for a pillow, throwing it harder than necessary to flop anticlimactically on Grimmjow's stomach. You received a growl for your efforts. Throwing a couple more robust logs on the fire to ensue heat for hopefully the whole night, you felt confident to change into your sleeping gown and not freeze to death. While it showed more skin than your regulation issued shinigami uniform and as much as you didn't relish in the thought of rolling about on that dirty mattress all night with more on show, you hated the confines of clothing while you slept. You would just have to scrub extra hard in your bath the next day.

Locating your gown in your backpack, you climbed under the covers to change, folding up your uniform neatly and laying it atop your bag. Though it would've been easier staying dry in a shower, you snuggled under the blanket trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. The raging storm outside helped ease you into blissful unconsciousness, hoping that by morning the storm would've passed along with Grimmjows pissy mood

You wouldn't hold your breath though

——————————————————

When your eyes snapped open way too soon for it yet to be morning, you had first assumed it was the storm still raging outside that had woken you up. You remained staring at the wall, not wanting to risk waking Grimmjow, less you wanted to deal with his moody ass at being woken. The fire was still breathing, judging by the heat at your back. You listened to the usual sounds of the storm, rumbling thunder in the distance, they ruthlessly pelting rain hitting the roof, howling wind whipping through the trees. Yet sleep avoided you.

That's when you heard the shuffle of clothes rubbing together and a throaty grunt. You roll your eyes, of course the bastard moved around in his sleep. You tried to force yourself back to sleep, but the noises never stopped. You could hear his knuckles crack as they gripped the side of the tatami mat, puff of air escaping the spongy padding.

He squirmed around noisily, small grunts and husky grumbles accompanying his heavy breathing. You sigh loudly, the room stilling. A pregnant pause followed. Pleased with the silence you closed your eyes again, trying to drift off.

A chesty rumble and a thump that sounded suspiciously like a fist hitting the mat had you flipping over, leaning up on your elbow to glare at the Espada "Grimmjow, what the hell are you doing?" 

"Nothing". He tightly snapped at you, lacking the usual hostility. He stared at the roof, refusing to look at you "go back to fucking sleep" 

"I can't, with all your moving around and grunting."  You try not to sound condescending, but really, who could sleep through all that racket. "What's the problem? Are you cold or something? I could put another log on the fire..?"

"Its rutting season" he growled out deeply, voice so thick and sticky he almost choked on the words... Rutting season? Oh. Oh  That'll explain the frenzied look he sported earlier. You were at a loss of what to say, what could you say? Shinigami didn't go through anything so animalistic

"can't you just..? Ignore it?" You ask, ignorance showing

"The fuck do you think I'm doing?" He snapped at you, patience clearly wearing thin

"making a fucking racket" you grumble back "can't you.. step outside.. take care of it?"

He snorted at your suggestion, legs moving around on the mat "damn shinigami, don't know nothing." 

"we don't have rutting seasons"  you reminded him softly

"It don't fucking work like that. Hands don't work. I gotta knot in a pussy" the crass wording had you sucking in a sharp breath. Not quite the civilised conversation you were anticipating, yet the next words sent a rush of heat rushing through you hotter than the fire itself "so unless your offering, shut the fuck up an go back to sleep"

Offering? To have sex with him? What an absurd notion. And yet... Grimmjow was good looking.. in a demented "I'll murder you and everyone you love" kinda way. Tall and with enough rippling muscles for three men. A cocky grin with surprisingly intriguingly sharp canines. While usually spitting insults, his voice was deep and sultry. And his hair, such an unusual colour, yet it fit him so perfectly.

It had been a while since you had indulged in that cardinal desire, your throbbing cunt attested to that. You could help him out.. if only to finally get some peace and quiet enough to go back to sleep.

"Alright, I'll help you" your voice sounded strained to your own ears. Grimmjow sat up suddenly at your words, staring at you as though you sprouted another head

"the fuck you just say?" Utter bewilderment filled his voice, lilt of eagerness filtering through

"I said, alright"it pained you to admit it, twice. "I won't be able to get any damn sleep until you stop moving around" 

Grimmjow pounced across the room, literally leaping through the air and landing easily on your bed. Feverish hands ripped off your blanket, eliciting a squeak of surprise from you at his eager haste. Rough large hands ripped your gown from your body, jagged line separating the cloth covering your body. You glared at him, for ruining your favourite sleeping gown. He payed not attention, throwing the scraps of ruined material over the side of the bed.

He had a crazed look in his eyes, taken over with the animalistic urge to mate. His chest heaved with heavy breaths as he removed his own top, you noticed how he didn't rip his clothing. Surging forward Grimmjow buried his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply. Your scent filled his nostrils, eliciting a rumbling deep from his chest. You cry out as he bit down brutally, sharp teeth sinking into the flesh where neck joins shoulder.

His hips bucked against your covered core at the tang of blood seeping through to his tongue, deep rumbling escaping around the mouthful of neck he had in his mouth, reminding you of the purr of a cat. A big fucking cat. Mercifully releasing you, he swiped a strong, hot lick against the wound, cleaning up the drops of blood pulled out. Seemingly finished marking you, Grimmjow pushed away his pants, large cock bobbing heavily between you. Your eyes went wide at the sight, throat drying painfully.

He was huge. While similar to that of humans, it was bigger than any you had previously seen, by quite a few generous inches. And thick, you wouldn't be able to close your hand around the veiny girth to touch your fingertips. You couldn't tell if the weight appearing in your lower stomach was from dread or lustful excitement at the knowledge it would soon be inside you.

Ignoring your inner turmoil, Grimmjow ripped your panties off you next, throwing the scrap of material to join the rest. Angry retort died on your lips as he surged forward, attempting to thrust into you

"wait!" You nearly scream, holding him back by planting your hands firmly on his chest, twisting your leg to cover your opening. He gave you a warning growl, hand gripping your thigh roughly to move it back from denying him access, crazed instincts telling him to mount. The punch to the jaw you delivered brought him back to his senses some what

"what?" He asked through clenched teeth, finally making eye contact

"you can't just force it in" you said pointedly, glancing down at the angry purpling head of his dick. He gave you a questioning look, head tilted to the side in a feline manor. "You got to get me wet first"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, crawling down your body he crouched down to be eye level with your core, before spitting loudly straight onto your cunt. You felt the hot liquid hit you, and recoiled at the grotesque action. Your mind almost short circuited when he tried again to mount you. You planted a foot on his chest this time, pushing him back.

"fucking now what?!" he almost roared at you, getting frustrated at being denied what had already been offered.

"not like that ,you brute!"

"fucking woman! You said wet, that's wet!" He let out his frustration by pushing against your leg planted on his chest

"We aren't naturally wet inside, Grimmjow. We need to be stimulated by foreplay,". You spoke to him slowly, like teaching a child "you need to use your fingers or tongue to stretch me, your dick will rip me otherwise " you begrudgingly add, he definitely didn't need the ego boost of knowing he was very well endowed. He caught the meaning anyway, cocky smirk making a reappearance on his face. "Try and make me actually want to fuck you, for fucks sake" you add exasperated, flopping back onto the pillow.

This time you allowed him to remove your foot from his chest, letting it fall to the side, opening up your thighs. His wet, warm tongue suddenly tasted you in a steady lick up the slit of your cunt. You sigh, letting your eyes close to savour the feelings, letting yourself relax enough to enjoy it. He repeated the action, delving in between your folds a little more with every lick.

Grimmjow let his mouth salivate at the new taste, his animalistic side relishing in the musky taste of a mate. Letting his spit slide down onto his tongue to leave on your silky hot folds. A breathy moan escapes you, shooting straight to Grimmjows throbbing, neglected cock. He gave an answering growl, plunging his tongue deep into your depths, patience slowly but surly hitting their limits.

He needed to start rutting, and soon. Your own natural lubricant began coating his tongue, setting his tastebuds alight with the heady taste. Pushing his face in deeper, chasing the slightly salty tang, his nose brushed against something that made you jerk below him with a loud moan. He pulled out of you, lower face dampened by his sloppy work, in search for what made you call out.

At the top of your dusky pink cunt was a small protruding bump, inquisitively, he brushed his finger against it. Another moan ripped from you, back arching from the bed, thrusting your hips up encouragingly. Grimmjow rubbed against it again, getting the same reaction.

Not letting up on his thumb pressing against the little button that had you bucking like a bitch in heat, Grimmjow shoved two fingers inside you roughly. He could feel your tight inner walls sucking around his fingers, clenching them tightly. Thrusting them in and out quickly, gaining hardly any give in your vice like grip, Grimmjow sped up his movements, practically punching his knuckles either side of his submerged digits into the soft flesh on your pussy.

You writhed beneath him, pleasure outshining the pain he inflicted on your sensitive mound. A steady stream of appreciative moans left your lips, turning into keening groans as he added another finger, stretching you out in preparation for his even larger phallic. Lost in a sea of contradictory feelings, you didn't feel your orgasm approaching until it crashed over you, pulling you deeper into a spiral of blind bliss.

Grimmjow felt the sudden gush of liquid on his fingers, getting pushed out messily by his thrusting fingers. First he sneered, assuming you had disgustingly wet yourself, pissing all over his hand. Until his sensitive nose picked up the scent, the same heady musk he had tasted from within you. Mouth watering, wanting to taste the tangy substance once more, Grimmjow removed his soaked fingers, going straight to the source to drink down the glistening wetness.

Lust filled fog lifted slowly from your mind, feeling Grimmjow greedily lap at your spasming Cunt, you tried to push his head away. Grimmjow possessively growled into you, gripping your thighs to stop you denying him his reward.

"Grimmjow" you called to him to no prevail, he ignored your voice, lapping at you hungrily. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply. Like a cornered beast he pinned you to the bed by your wrists, staring challengingly into your eyes with a predatory look. His mouth was wet with your arousal, you could smell your scent on his chin as he tumbled above you in warning.

"Grimmjow," you tried again, submissively lowering your tone, whispering meekly. "You need to leave it wet, so you don't hurt me with your cock"

The mention of his cock seemed to remind him of the aching member hanging heavily between you. Releasing you with a huff, Grimmjow fisted himself, groaning at the full tug he gave himself. Lining up with your centre, he pushed in swiftly, burying himself as deep as he could go, stopping only when the engorged head of his dick bumped against your cervix. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, painfully stretching you beyond your limits. Your inner walls protested at the too big invasion, squeezing painfully around it.

Tears stung your eyes, mouth gasping to pull air into your lungs. It was too big, too much to handle. Grimmjow didn't allow you any time to adjust to the size, rutting his hips into you feverishly, cardinal desire to breed consuming his mind. You felt the burn as his rigid cock dragged against your walls, pushing against them unbending. Small sparks of pleasure tried to push through the overwhelming stretch, Grimmjow hitting every sweet spot mercilessly with each frenzied thrust. You concluded he was too big, too thick to miss, accuracy wouldn't be needed.

Grimmjows chest rumbled with a constant primal gravel. Pupils blown wide, the Panthera focused his gaze on the vivid bite mark on your neck. Powerful hips thrusted into you cruelly, chasing after his cardinal need to procreate. Dipping his head, Grimmjows lips found the swell of your breast, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth to clamp his teeth into. The cry you gave only spurred him on to leave his mark. The jagged tenth of his broken hollow mask scraped against your nipple, spike of pleasure burst through the pain.

At your whimper Grimmjow released you, deranged look in his eyes. You flinched when he lowered himself to your face, tilting your head to the side as a strained moan ripped from your throat. Half expecting another bite, your eyes closed, bracing for the new flash of pain. Instead of the sharp bite, you felt his tongue drag slowly up your cheek. The saltiness from your sweat flavoured your skin, Grimmjow hungrily sought out the delicacy, licking at your face protectively.

Rutting instincts being satisfied, the demented haze lessened enough for Grimmjow to filter through is own thoughts and wants. Seeing you panting beneath him, squirming in pleasure, face screwed up in painful bliss was a beautiful sight. But it wasn't what he wanted, what the alpha demanded of his willing mate.

The rough withdrawal of his dick had you gasping at the reprieve, legs fell flat to the bed heavily,muscles twitching in protest. The gap in the brutal penetration was short lived, however, when Grimmjow used his superior strength to throw you to your stomach. Equilibrium fighting to right itself, two large hands gripped painfully into your hips, forcibly dragging you to your knees. Round ass held in the air, glistening cunt on full display for his viewing pleasure.

The Espada slid his hand up the length of your back, cupping the back of your neck to push your face into the mattress. Pushing your hair away from the most delicate part of your neck, portraying the Vulnerable submission the alpha so desperately seeked. He thrusted his dick back into your dripping heat, claiming his mate.

Your back arched at the reappearance of his cock stretching you sinfully. Groaning with the wet slapping of skin meeting skin. Fingers dug into the fleshy part of your ass, kneeling the swell in his palms. Grimmjow had his eyes fixated on the way your ass rippled with every thrust, his cock disappearing into your hot, tight hole. Your wetness spraying out with every plunge, wetting his lower stomach and thighs.

The smell was intoxicating, addicting. Breathing deep he could almost taste the musky aroma, eliciting a feline hiss. His hands spread your ass cheeks revealing your puckered hole. Spitting loudly he watched as his saliva trickled down the valley between your cheeks, sliding over that hidden hole. Using a finger to gather the moisture, not wanting you to bitch at him again, the arrancar pushed his way through the tight ring of muscles.

You yelped at the sudden intrusion, spent body easily accepting the new addition as you laid heavily into the mattress. His brutal thrusts hadn't let up through his curious exploration, steadily pushing you further towards the most natural of highs. Grimmjows chest swelled with pride of having calmed both of your holes, muscles squeezing devilishly tight.

The heat encasing his cock was driving him wild, with feral intensity, the instincts to breed filled him. Slipping from your ass, he gripped your hips bruisingly, snapping you back onto his rutting cock brutally. The pleasure filled scream you have had his balls tightening. He could feel the knot forming in the middle of his dick, getting caressed by the tight velvety walls with each drag of his impressive length

"m'gunna fill you full of pups" he growled out, panting harshly "gunna fill your cunt with my seed" 

You scream out in pleasure, the knot forming inside you pushing against your already straining walls, rubbing roughly against your pleasure spot hidden away in your depths. "Your mine" the growled word's emphasised with increasingly powerful thrusts. A hand left your hip, wrapping it around your throat to pull you back into a painful bend. "My mate" 

Sharp teeth sunk into the back of your neck, latching on viciously. Hot pants forced through his teeth, heating up the bruising skin trapped in their hold. A bright light burst from behind your eyes as you descended into euphoric darkness. Violent tremors raked through your body as you convulsed around the dick forcing you into the most powerful orgasm you had ever endured. The strong hold on your neck the only thing keeping you from spiralling into the darkness threatening to pull you under.

The impossibly tight, the cunt surrounding his cock clamped down. Grimmjow erratically rutted into you in short bursts, knot no longer allowing him to pull out from your sopping channel. The knot snapped in a painful burst, seed rushing from him in blinding pleasure. The Panthera released the hold his teeth had on your neck to yowl loudly into the room. Hips stilling as his seed erupted inside you, filling you with his hot cum.

The lustful instinct to mate melted away at his release. Control over his mind filtered back slowly, allowing him to see the state he had left you in. Angry teethmarks sat proudly at the back of your neck. Slumped forward in his hold, your sweat soaked body hung limply, raggedly sucking in desperate breaths.

Laying himself across your back, Grimmjow Manoeuvered you both to lay down on the small bed on your sides. Knotted cock still buried deep inside you, Grimmjow moulded himself to your back, wrapping his arm around you protectively. On the brink of sleep you squirm, wincing at the pinch in your abused pussy caused by the pull of the knot keeping him in.

"stay still" his gruff voice held a semblance care, large hand soothing over the bruises left by his fingers on your hips "y'gotta let it go down or it'll rip ya apart"

Your body pushed to the brink of what it could take started to shiver, muscles periodically twitching as they relaxed. Thinking you were cold, Grimmjow grabbed the sorry excuse for a blanket, draping it over you. Head buried in your neck, Grimmjow soothed the marks left there with his tongue, methodically licking over the wounds, soothing the dull throbbing.

Arm wrapped protectively around you, slowly deflating cock nestled deeply within you, you fell into unconsciousness with Grimmjows cool tongue lapping at your skin. Satisfied you were cleaned up enough, Grimmjow tightened the hold he had on you, savouring the feel of his cock being warmed by your hole, full to the brim with his seed. Burying his head in your hair, letting your smell fill his senses as he joined you in sleep he so desperately needed, whispering a single word as he succumbed to the pull

"mine"

[anundyingfidelity]

heyy, how are youu? hope youre doing great!! congratss on your 400 followers 🎉!! i saw that you open a request maybe you would write a drabble for dark!soldier boy since theres not much dark fics about him and ive been craving it so badly. please and thank youu!! 💓💓

hellooo, i am doing good! thANK YOU SO MUCH! absoutely i will! since there's no specific details i just went with it for a dark!soldier boy drabble with a mix of stuff. i hope you like this one! :)

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CRUEL INTENTIONS — Dark!Soldier Boy x female reader

Word count: 590 (oops).

Genre: dark stuff, smut.

Warnings: dark!soldier boy, dub-con, p in v smut, mentions of pain, dacryphilia, innocent!reader, corruption, degradation, soldier boy is obsessed with reader.

Since the first time he saw you around the Vought building, Soldier Boy knew he had to have you. No matter what. Having you under his mercy was his ultimate goal.

You were a new secretary around. So innocent, so pure, and full of life and joy, getting into the supe business making boring tasks and jobs designated to women like you. But Soldier Boy saw you enjoying all of that. You always arrived early to work, with a smile that would brighten the day of any idiot by your side. Your laugh was sweet and perfectly created to be ruined, only by him. To your lovely voice to be converted into pleas and cries.

After days of not so subtly hitting on you, playing the nice gentleman, he had you under his skin using lies and a couple of threats. Soldier Boy remembered the way you accepted his invitation to his annual ‘private party’ without specifying any further details. The party that was Herogasm. And now, he fucked you into oblivion over a rustic wood desk, taking in the tightness of your cunt around his dick and the sinful moans slipping from your sore throat. His eyes taking in the sinful sight of his cock entering your tight pussy, walls clenching around him yet again as you reached your peak. Soldier Boy already lost count of how many times he had made you cum.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me,” he hissed. His thrusts never stopped, instead increased their rhythm. “Look how much you’ve come because of my cock. Am I that good, my little slut?”

You looked away, shutting your eyes closed as you felt another orgasm building inside you, pleading with a broken voice. “Please, please…”

The tears were already coating your flushed face, ashamed of what was happening and not sure if it was right. He was just using you. But at the same time, you wanted more of him. Soldier Boy already bent you over every surface of the room, ripping orgasm after orgasm from you, handling you like if you were just a mere ragdoll for him to play with as much as he wanted, taking you apart from the whole orgy that was showing outside. He was fucking insatiable, barely getting rid of his helmet and just taking out his hard cock to fuck your mouth and then get buried inside your tight cunt. At first, you weren’t sure about letting him fuck his way with you, but his voice and promises of pleasure were more than sufficient to somehow give in.

“Jesus Christ, your pussy feels like heaven,” he breathed, increasing the tightness of his grip on your hips.

Even if your thighs felt like burning, that your whole body was under ache due to the hard grips on you, you needed him. And he was going to make you his little plaything. He smirked as you, one more time, dissolved into the sweet and painful pleasure of cuming around his girth, letting out a sinful moan that mingled with the animalistic sounds of women and men fucking like beasts outside the room. He hissed with anticipation, his lustful eyes lingering over your teary face as he slowed down his thrusts. Fuck, he wanted nothing more but to make you cry harder.

“Sweetheart, I still need to cum,” he purred, wiping the tears rolling down your skin.

You sobbed, catching your breath. “I’m tired.”

 “Just a couple more rounds, you’ll do it, baby.”

Soldier Boy was being kind to you. Next time he wouldn’t go that easy.